


Tailor Made

by otokoume



Category: One Piece
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Bisexuality, Blow Jobs, Bondage, Canon-Typical Violence, Choking, Dom/sub, Dubious Consent, Eventual Romance, Extremely Dubious Consent, Fluff, Functional Dysfunctional, Lots of it, M/M, Masturbation, Modern Romance, Mutual Pining, Pansexual Character, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Power Bottom, Power Dynamics, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, S&M, Sexual Violence, Slow Burn, Switching, TailorAU, The Author Regrets Nothing, Two Shot, fast burn, sex in every chapter, whatever that means
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-16
Updated: 2020-05-09
Packaged: 2020-10-20 01:04:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20666759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/otokoume/pseuds/otokoume
Summary: Zoro, a mercenary aristocrat with anger issues, ends up having his suits made by the mouthy assistant of the master tailor in town, only to find that the blonde has more to offer than just tailored jackets.An exploration of pain, pleasure and modern romance.





	1. The Assistant

**Author's Note:**

  * For [niigiirii](https://archiveofourown.org/users/niigiirii/gifts), [robinelli](https://archiveofourown.org/users/robinelli/gifts).
**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: Small edits for clarity and natural flow of dialogue.
> 
> This is a plunge into sadomasochism, toggling between the perspectives of Zoro and Sanji. I don’t want to spoil anyone’s fun, but for people not used to my style, just remember: no matter what, this is a love story.

Zoro was very good at ruining nice things. 

“ANOTHER suit? Are you serious Zoro?!” Perona picked up the shreds of the item formerly known as a tailored jacket from the floor. “How many is that this week? Huh??” She tossed the rags at her brother, storming off. “Father’s going to kill you,” she said as her heels clicked with her out of the practice hall.

Zoro scoffed as he sliced through the oncoming debris. He glanced down at his pants, whose legs had been properly slashed open to match. Another expensive wool suit destroyed in the crossfire. Sure he would be reprimanded, but his father the count was a famous slasher of suits himself. “The best man is better dressed.” 

“My apologies, my Lord. I should have known you would use such a deflection technique.” Zoro’s sparring partner bowed deeply, but Zoro just laughed. 

“Yeah, you should,” he said, still grinning as he sheathed his katana.

“It’s just...well, that was your new favorite jacket and I never imagined…” 

“Book another appointment with Zeff for me.” Zoro rubbed a towel over his face as he started to rehearse his apology to the master tailor in his head. He would be requiring a new favorite suit. 

********

“WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!” Zeff’s eyes quivered as he approached the box of suit scraps as if it held the corpse of his own child. He shoved it back at Zoro’s valet. 

“My apologies, Master Zeff, but--”

“ENOUGH! Your father, I can handle; he at least calculates his work and preorders accordingly. YOU, however, you with your wreckless impromptu practices, duels on the street, and your utter lack of RESPECT for fine fabrics; oh GOD, this beautiful 180 count lambs wool spun in Alabasta...GONE. RUINED. IRREPLACEABLE. Do you know what it’ll cost to get quality of this kind from a country in CIVIL WAR??”

“Again, I--”

“DO YOU NOT UNDERSTAND WHAT IRREPLACEABLE MEANS?? The country is at WAR you imbecile! That means no more imports from them for the foreseeable future! No more woolens, no more worsted, not even CAMEL hair and it’s a goddamn DESERT country!” Zeff’s nostrils flared and his face pink with anger, his hands thrust into the air, gesturing at the lack of Alabasta anything. “That’s it. I wash my hands of you and your family. Find yourself some other poor tailor in town.”

“But Master Zeff,” Zoro said calmly. He had been through this charade before. “In your hands, any fabric can be transformed into finery.” He studied the master tailor’s expression as it softened ever so slightly at the praise. Zeff was now stroking his beard. Yes, he had a shot. “I implore you to reconsider.” He took a small bow and waited.

“Hmph,” came a quick response. “Fine. At least your father taught you some manners. Very well, I will continue to provide my services to your family,” he paused before heading back into his salon and glared at Zoro with divine judgement in his eyes. “However, not for you.” 

“I beg your pardon?”

“Your suits will now be handled by one of my assistants.” Zoro’s eyebrows twitched. An assistant?? “Indefinitely. At least until I’m not entirely repulsed by the sight of you.” Then Zeff’s expression changed from anger to disturbingly devious. “Geoffrey, show him to Sanji. I’m sure he’ll appreciate his unique take on...hospitality.” 

“But--” *BLAM* The door to the master tailor’s grand salon slammed shut in Zoro’s face. Zoro stood in the foyer speechless as the other clerks of the tailor shop exchanged glances of mild panic. One of them finally spoke up.

“Um, sir, shall I escort you upstairs to the secondary salon for your fitting then?” Zoro nodded, feeling both relieved at still being able to get a proper suit made but also on edge at the prospect of trusting anyone other than the best tailor in the land with his clothes. They were, after all, much more than that. 

They walked up the grand banister of circular stairs, which then tapered into a hall. The large glass ceiling of the grand salon taunted him from below, as Zoro glanced down at another client getting fitted atop a plush crimson velvet stool, surrounded by attendants and generous swathes of new woolens. Even as they grew smaller and smaller with his ascent up the stairs, he could still see the client being served champagne, then glancing over at the five panel mahogany mirror to admire himself. That should’ve been him. The muscles in his jaw clenched and he furrowed his eyebrows at no one. This was his own damn fault after all. 

“Here you are sir. Enjoy, uh, your fitting with Mr. Vinsmoke.” The clerk bowed and scurried away rather quickly, as if evading a ghost. Zoro watched him with a puzzled look, but soon turned his attention to the doorknob. 

He opened the door to see the back of the head of a blonde man on his knees in front of another man, his arms around him in a precarious position. The standing man looked down at the blonde with a studied look. 

“Um, am I interrupting something?” Zoro said. 

“You aristocrats sure know how to knock,” the blonde man said flatly without stirring from his position. Zoro flinched at the man’s rudeness.

“Is that how you address nobility?” 

“I’m busy. Come back later.” Zoro couldn’t believe what he was hearing. His eyebrows narrowed at the insolence. 

“I was told my fitting would be now.” 

“Well, excuse me, Mr. Entitled,” the blonde stood up and put some pins back into the cushion perched atop his wrist. “But it’s not my fault you pissed off Zeff and lost your grand salon rights.” He turned and a curly eyebrow met Zoro’s gaze bemused with taunt. Tall, slender, but surprisingly wide shoulders for a tailor. Zoro’s cheeks felt a tinge of heat. 

“I should have you arrested for contempt.” Zoro glared back at steely blue eyes. They didn’t waver like they should and Zoro felt the rage well up in his chest. 

“Oh yes, that is the only way you can demand respect, isn’t it? Relying on your daddy’s influence to keep the common folk in line?” Zoro felt his face twist in anger and his thumb flick one of his katana’s out of it’s sheath, revealing a metallic glean that could not be ignored.

“Well if you prefer, I have three reasons why you shouldn’t piss me off--”

“Maybe...maybe I’d better leave.” The other man who had been standing awkwardly in wait finally piped up. The blonde quickly turned to him, with a look shockingly the opposite to the one he had just given Zoro. 

“Oh don’t mind him sir. I’ll be back with you shortly,” he said as he held out a foot and swiftly kicked Zoro in the solar plexus out the door. Zoro’s back smashed into the hall, leaving wallpaper torn and wooden panels cracked. Before Zoro could even counter the surprise attack, a door slammed in his face for the second time that day. 

***

Zoro waited another hour before the door opened and the very nervous man bowed to him as he dashed away down the steps. Livid was putting lightly the mood the green haired nobleman was in. He had to apologize, for the nth time today, to Zeff and offer triple the damages to avoid a lifetime ban. 

“Enter.” He took a deep breath in through his nostrils and opened the door. The blonde was smoking a cigarette nonchalantly leaning against a desk laden with scraps of paper, staring out the window. 

The assistant’s salon was nothing compared to the master’s. While the wallpaper and wood furnishings were the same, they were a much shabbier and nicked version. The mirror was a single sheet of glass and sad unlacquered brass. And there was no lush velvet ottoman in sight. 

“Tell me why I shouldn’t slit your throat for earlier.” Zoro said in a low husky growl. 

“Oh, I could give you plenty of reasons,” the blonde said with a sneer. “But I only need one.” He got up from the table, cigarette dangling from his lips, hands in his pockets. His long legs strode over to Zoro and stopped just too far into Zoro’s comfort zone. 

“Because you need me.”

Zoro took a deep breath in without opening his mouth. He was right. Dammit. 

“Well let’s get on with it, shall we?” He made a mock bow and flourish with one of his arms, gesturing to the center of the room where the other man had stood earlier. Zoro trudged past him, making sure his swords rapped the other man’s knees. He could see the blonde buckle slightly out of surprise and he smirked. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll be on my knees for you shortly.” Zoro jerked his head back at the blonde, who chuckled at him as he crushed his cigarette into a nearby ashtray. “Oh, don’t get your panties in a twist, marimo. Now, stand still so I can take your measurements.”

Zoro stood still and fumed in silence. Not only had he fallen from the grace of the master tailor, but now he had to put up with the insults and assaults from his assistant, for god’s sake. If it were combat, he would’ve scalped this ingrate hours ago. 

“Hey, if your shoulders stay this tense, your jacket is going to fit pretty tight.” Zoro felt the measuring tape on his shoulder. He took a deep breath and tried to calm himself down. Easy now. Think of the suits. 

“Aw, have I gotten under your skin?” He heard the tailor’s tape measure snap behind him.

“Shut up and do your job.” 

“And what is that? To be nice to you? To grovel at your feet? To say ‘yes m’lord?’” The blonde was now facing him with a smile full of the upper hand. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” He slowly got down on his knees, blue eyes never leaving Zoro’s as he wrapped the measurement tape around Zoro’s waist. 

Then, to Zoro’s horror, he felt himself grow hard. He didn’t have a religion, but he started praying the other man wouldn’t notice.

“Oh, so you do, don’t you?” The blonde’s voice had changed purr. Zoro felt his cock betraying him, was this seriously happening? 

“How would you make me obey you, Sir Zoro Roronoa?” The blonde egged him on as he slid the tape measure down, stopping at Zoro’s hip.

“How do you--”

“Who doesn’t know the famous mercenary with three swords?” The blonde cocked his head to one side and looked right at where the tape measure crossed over Zoro’s hard-on. “And it looks like you might have four.” Zoro’s nostrils flared and he crushed his teeth. 

“Shut. Up.” 

“Or what?” Those blue eyes looked at him with false concern. “Can’t stop a wretched commoner from saying mean things about your dick all by yourself? Need to call your daddy for---” 

Zoro didn’t know how it happened, but in a nanosecond, he had unzipped his fly and shoved his cock straight into the other man’s mouth. He grabbed the back of the blonde’s head and shook himself deeper in. His eyes were blown open with rage, his hands veined and pulsing. A beautiful gurgle uttered from the other man’s throat and Zoro looked down. Blue discs, pooled in tears from choking on his cock, still stared back at him unwavering. He had never seen eyes look at him that way.

The blonde’s hands had fallen by his sides, but they made no attempts to stop him. On the contrary, Zoro felt the other man’s jaw actually slack and his tongue lengthen. He was making room for him. He wanted more. 

Not breaking their eye contract, Zoro continued to ram himself into this new willing hole. Lips and sweet wetness encircled his member and now, moans were coming from below in sync with his rhythm. He watched tears drip steadily down the blonde’s face, leaving salty streams in their wake. He felt his anger shift to pleasure, pleasure shift to heat and heat to a fire that ignited his core to the brink. 

Zoro came so hard and fast into the blonde’s mouth, he didn’t even have time to grunt. The orgasm evaporated out of his shoulders as intensely and quickly as it came and he withdrew reluctantly from the mouth. As he looked down, one hand still ratted in hair, he took his cock in his hand and wiped his cum on the man’s lips. To his delight and disbelief, the blonde licked him clean. 

Then, there was a knock on the door.

“That’s my 3 o’clock.” he said, his eyes hooded and looking up at Zoro as he swallowed. He then licked his lips clean of cum. Zoro gulped down his own spit, hard. “Come back next week. And this time, don’t hold back.” 

***

Zoro couldn’t sleep at all that night. On the way home, throughout dinner, and now lying in the dark, he could only think about what the blonde tailor had said. What was his name again?

Sanji. Vinsmoke. That’s right.

Sanji.

What was “don’t hold back” supposed to mean anyway? Did he not just mouth fuck him without consent? To the brink of tears no less. 

And those eyes. What were they trying to tell him that their owner wouldn’t? What, was that entire thing orchestrated against him somehow? 

What if his father found out? 

***

“Father, you can’t be serious.” Zoro almost slammed down his fork. Count Mihawk continued to cut his steak, undisturbed. 

“It's not gonna kill you, silly,” Perona piped up. 

“I'd prefer a quick death, thanks.” Zoro snapped. 

“Those parties aren’t just for me,” the count answered coldly, not looking looking up. “They’re for you.”

“What the hell does a high-brow dress-up party have to do with me? I’m a fucking swordsman!”

The count stopped cutting his steak. 

“My son, do you know what the Mihawk name stands for?”

“Strength,” Zoro answered robotically. “Results.” 

“No.” Count Mihawk stood up and looked out at the ornate gold cross overlooking the dining table. “The name stands for reliability. And I had to earn it. Have you earned your own name?”

Zoro sat silent. 

“No.”

“And why is that?”

“Because I wasn’t born a Mihawk.” Zoro said sarcastically. 

“WRONG.” Count Mihawk’s voice bellowed throughout the hall. “There are no 'Mihawks,' how many times do you need to learn the same lesson?” The count directed his gaze directly at Zoro. “No one is born into this family. We are selected. And we have survived because no one gets a free ride on the coattails of our ancestors. Not even me.” 

Zoro felt his face flush. 

“Now, we are going to that party. We will charm the hosts and their guests. And they will remember this family and ALL of its members should our services ever be required. Have I made myself clear?”

Zoro nodded. The count nodded back and left the room. “See you both by the carriage this evening at half past.”

Perona swirled the peas around on her plate. “Oh, come on Zoro, do you always need to pick a fight right before we leave?”

“These snobby gatherings suck and you know it.” 

“Well, you had a great time last time, didn’t you?” Perona teased. “As I recall, you disappeared upstairs with a blond--”

“You were watching me? Pervert.”

"Slut." Perona stuck her tongue out at him. "I think they're kinda fun! Plus, where else am I gonna go in this season's ballgowns?"

Zoro rolled his eyes. His sister was still too young and immature to see high society gatherings for what they really were: a thinly veiled chance for the rich and bored to fuck each other. At least the booze was always good. 

****

“Yes, right there, YES!” 

The blond man’s hips begged for more as the slapping of his balls against Zoro’s cock grew louder and louder. Sweat gleaned on the bronze man’s chest and started to splatter violently across his partner’s back. Zoro gripped the thinner man’s hips so hard, he could feel the bruises forming in protest. Good thing men wore clothes in public. 

“Shit, you're huge, nnngh it feels so g--”

A hand silenced the blonde by pulling him up by the throat. His back now against Zoro’s chest, he tried to gasp for air, but could only wheeze. The grip at his throat would not let up.

“Shut. The. Fuck. Up,” Zoro growled. God, this twink may be the most annoying fuck he’d ever had. Zoro had only managed to knock back two glasses of wine before the short haired man approached him. He looked familiar. Decently looking, blue-eyed, freckled. A good frame, but a little delicate for his tastes, but why not; it saved him the trouble of seducing a distraction for the evening. Only problem was, he wasn’t drunk enough to put up with all the blabbering.

“I...can’t...you’re choking...me…”

“I said SHUT UP.” Before he could get a hold of himself, Zoro’s hands grew white hot with frustration and yanked the man’s hair back. Then, he jerked the smaller man’s body off the bed and slammed him against a nearby wall. The blonde collapsed onto the floor with a thud, choking for air, but soon found his throat caught in Zoro’s grip. The green haired man lifted him up unceremoniously and smashed the blonde’s face into the rococo wallpaper. 

“You’re...hurtin-”-Zoro’s grip tightened, his knuckles clenched and deepened the red flushing the blond man’s face. He had told him to shut up. Why wouldn’t he just shut up? Why wouldn’t everyone just SHUT UP?

He steadied his cock again and bucked mercilessly back into the frail blonde’s weakening asshole. He could feel it open up to him with little resistance. It was started to gape too much, he needed that tightness again. He then wrenched the other man’s free arm behind his back for more torque, pounding punishment into that tiny ass. The blonde’s throat made a wonderful gasping sound, a sound that signaled the tightening of his rectum around Zoro’s raging hard-on. God it felt so good like this. No, it only felt good like this. He gripped harder and harder. He needed it tighter. Tighter. 

He could see the white’s of the other man’s eyes bulging, his skin almost purple, his mouth gaping like a fish out of water. 

Begging. 

Please stop. Please stop. I can’t breathe, please stop. 

He looked almost as good as the tailor the other day. 

No. That blonde’s eyes had a different narrative.

The curly eyebrow beckoning, these blonde streaks wilder, that wide mouth wrapped around his cock. 

Don’t hold back. 

But he had. He had fucking stopped there. Fuck. 

Zoro pummeled his cock faster and faster against the smaller man’s prostate, as the sounds of fear and pleasure panted meekly out. He could feel himself coming, the orgasm stirred out of all his frustrations. He slammed himself further into the tightness, closing his eyes as he imagined himself fucking a different blonde. 

“Nnnnrggaahh!” Zoro released his hands and himself hard into the smaller man’s ass, bucking every last drop into his depth. The blonde spilled onto the floor into heavy spasms of air, trying to make up for the last few minutes of depravity. Zoro looked down at the man he had broken, his eyes carrying little remorse. The hair color was the same, but the energy was completely different. There was no resistance. No challenge. No game. No fun. 

“Did I hurt you?” 

“Hurt me??” The blonde sounded incredulous and his eyes were just as dumbfounded with Zoro’s indifferent tone. “You almost fucking killed me!” His eyes were bleary as they tried to search for empathy in Zoro’s, though to no avail. 

Zoro turned and grabbed a sheet off the bed. He wrapped it around the smaller man. Ah, that blonde hair, those freckles. Now he remembered why he looked familiar. 

“I’m sorry,” he said with a chuckle, “but I thought your sister would have warned you.” 

“Hah, she did actually,” the blonde’s face started to regain a healthy color. “But I thought I could handle it.” His gaze was now cast downward. The blonde looked up mournfully at Zoro, who was already fully dressed. He watched him redo his cravat and put on his dress loafers in silence. Then, he watched the green-haired man santer out of the room. 

“It's not you,” Zoro said, not trying to mask his disappointment. 

To be continued.


	2. Waiting Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: mild violence, possibly triggering language.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: Reworked beginning to clarify Sanji's motives and character

Sanji was thinking about Zoro’s cock again.

The wet thoughts of Zoro’s thickness made his tongue swell and his throat water. He remembered how Zoro held him and made him take it. And thinking about it inside him sunk him deeper into his chair and his hand further down his own pants. His breath shortened, his neck hot as he thought of that bronze flesh in and out of him, stretching him wide and wild. 

That had only been a test. When the tailor got him riled up, the swordsman really had unhinged like they said. 

He likes it rough, they say, 

He’ll hurt you, they say, 

Then he’ll leave, they say. 

Sanji wasn’t one to believe rumors; it was too easy for the average person to hype up celebrities. Tall, handsome, rich; the kind that had women or men a la carte and never the same dish twice. In other words, just another slutty, spoiled fuck boy right? What was there to write home about?

But yesterday, the moment the swordsman walked into his studio, as much as Sanji hated to admit it, he was ready to suck some serious dick. There was an air around the green haired man that commanded respect and filled the room with an unignorable presence, not simply because of his social standing. It was physical, raw power. It was so unexpected, Sanji felt his knees shake and his palms sweat. Could this man give him what he needed? If so, how good would that giving be? 

And how could he get more?

Wait. Stop. Calm down. Sanji slowly took his hand out of his pants, stood up and tucked his shirt back in. He was getting ahead of himself, like always. Rough, huh? Rough, Sanji could handle. 

What he needed was ruin. 

****  
That night, Sanji couldn’t sleep. Nor the next. Jerking himself off wasn’t doing the trick either, god knows it was the only thing that worked these days, but it seems his blue balls were strong enough to flick the ole insomnia switch again.

Frustrated, he got up, rubbing the back of his neck. Well, if he couldn't sleep, might as well work. He stumbled around in the dark for some clothes and cigarettes. 

Sanji’s room was adjacent to the studio and shabby as it may be, it was home. On the work table lay fabric ready to be cut and his tailoring supplies nestled neatly in open toolboxes, welcoming him back. 

As tired as he was, Sanji did relish in the quiet the night gave him. There was no one around to tell him to sew this or draft that; here in the witching hour, he was the boss. It was almost like the atelier was Sanji’s and not the old man’s, and he could forget that he was just another man behind the curtain to the Zeff show. 

“Now, where were we, darling?” Sanji said to the waiting fabric, as he set his candle down nearby. 

By dawn, Sanji had completed the bodice and was moving on to the collar. The delirium was slowing him down, but the fluid mechanics of stitching and ironing had calmed his nerves. Maybe he’d actually get some sleep tonight. 

The collar was finished before noon and Sanji was just about to start on the iron formation for the sleeves when the door opened. 

The tailor’s expression hardened when he saw who had stopped by. A tan, black haired man wearing a suit he remembered making a couple months ago was standing out of breath in front of him. There were bags under his eyes blacker than Sanji’s own and the man looked like he hadn’t eaten in days. 

“Gin. This is getting a little sad.” 

“Sanji, I can’t,” the man said, his eyes looking longingly at the tailor. “I-I needed to see you again.” He drew closer to him, causing Sanji to retreat in kind. 

“Please”, he begged as his knees fell to the floor. “Please, let me try again. Tie you up, whip you, anything you want. Anything you need. Just. Please.” 

Gin then got on his hands and crawled closer to the blond man, a starved and sad look in his eyes. Sanji backed up until he felt the desk behind him. Having trapped Sanji, both of Gin’s hands implored Sanji by tugging on the hem of his jacket. 

“Please.” 

Sanji took Gin’s hands in his and pulled them off him. He looked at the other man dead on. 

“Find yourself another tailor.” His voice was soft but stern. 

Gin’s expression changed from sullen to charged. His pupils shrank behind a wild rage that had taken over, his knuckles white around Sanji’s black hem.

“There’s someone else already, isn’t there?” Gin demanded as he pushed back into Sanji’s hands. “Isn’t there?! Who is it? Who’s fucking you? Who?? Does he choke you? Scratch you? Do you let him cum on your face and spit on you? Who’s fucking you, god dammnit, WHO?” Then his voice became gravely, his tone a hard plead. “If you let me, I could do it, I can prove it to you, I could really hurt you, dammit, Sanji, just give me another shot, PLEASE!!” 

Sanji’s response was a roundhouse knee to Gin’s temple. He was way too sleep deprived, way too sexually frustrated for this shit right now. The other man never knew what hit him, his body hitting the floor with a thud. Gin was now face planted on the floor, his nose bleeding. As he struggled to lift himself off the floor, Sanji, with his hands nonchalantly in his pockets now, lifted a leg and crushed the man’s head down with a polished shoe.

“That’s the thing, Gin.” Sanji said coldly, “you could never hurt me.” Through his foot, Sanji could feel the man’s body concede. He lifted his shoe up and let Gin collect himself. The other man faced the door, his back to Sanji as he took out a handkerchief. Wiping off the blood, Sanji could see his shoulders sink and his head start to turn, but instead, Gin left without another word. 

Sanji groined, annoyed at this morning and himself. He had been really desperate lately and it had been slim pickings. Maybe he should just not sleep with his clients? 

Zoro would be different, no, he IS different, Sanji reasoned with himself. 

****

A couple days later, the door burst open at nearly half past two and banged against the wall. Did Zoro get lost or something? It’s only one goddamn staircase and a hall for Christ’s sake. Now, with barely half an hour left, it was going to be hard to pull off his act. 

The green haired nobleman had made his un-noble entrance with a scowl and a slim fit, single buttoned black suit. Peaked lapels, flap pockets, 3 panels, breast pocket...a would-be standard suit save for the raglan sleeves and the collarless shirt, unbuttoned like a Henley. Ah, sporty, yet decidedly chic. Sanji drank the sight of him in, trying not to swallow too loudly.

“Welcome back, sir,” Sanji said with a little bow. 

“Sir?” 

“Yes, sir, might I offer you something to drink for today’s appointment? Not much time though, I’m afraid.” Sanji said delicately bright, watching confusion permeate Zoro’s face. 

“Whisky. On the rocks.” 

“Right away, sir.” Sanji bowed again, slinking over to the drink cart, almost too careful in selecting ice and poured out the amber liquor. “I believe I forgot something incredibly important for your fitting,” he said as he brought Zoro his drink on a silver platter. 

“Forgot what?”

The tailor turned his back to the swordsman and let his legs take their time walking to the bookshelf. 

“Why, the fabric selection, of course.” 

Sanji’s fingers pianoed left and right across the sample files, as if in thought, but he knew which one to pull. Zeff had told him which woolens Zoro strictly preferred as well as his measurements. 

“Didn’t Zeff tell you already?” 

Sanji remembered himself tell Zeff he didn’t give a shit what Zoro preferred and that Zeff’s measurements were as off as the geezer’s gait. But Zoro didn’t need to know that. 

“I’m afraid it must’ve slipped his mind, sir. It is wedding season, afterall, and well, one fitting after another. Please excuse this little hiccup,” Sanji said, walking over to the sofa now with a selection of thick binders. “Please, have a seat.”

Zoro did sit, but with his arms crossed and swords at attention.

“Given your line of work, might I suggest this range? Quite supple hand feel, ideal for movement.” 

“Is this similar to the Alabasta or Zea Island range?”

“You have excellent taste sir, and yes, it is.” 

“It’ll do.” 

“How about color?”

“That one.”

“Excellent choice, sir, and how about the liner? I recommend this line of Carnival Island cupro, in subtle paisley and stripes for contrast.”

“Just black.”

“Excellent choice, sir, then you’ll love this new tech fabric; tough but breathable, not to mention the silk-like finish.” 

“Sure.” 

“Excellent choice, sir.” Sanji peaked out from his bangs as he repeated himself and caught Zoro’s scowl deepening. He fought back a grin. It was working. 

“Now, as for the style of jacket, will you be requiring another double breasted jacket with semi-peaked lapels and double vents?”

Zoro’s expression changed from confusion to downright suspicion. 

“Wait. Zeff told you the style of the jacket I destroyed, but not my measurements or the fabric I like?” 

“One can never be too sure of what Master Zeff is thinking,” Sanji managed to say offhandedly. Shit. That was close. 

Zoro didn’t respond, and neither his shoulders nor his expression relaxed. Sanji needed to wrap this up quick. 

“Very well, sir, what kind of style will you be requiring this time?” 

“Same.” 

“Excellent choice, sir. And the slacks, slim fit, no break per the ones you’re wearing today?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Excellent choice, sir.” Sanji continued jotting down notes, fighting back the urge to glance at Zoro’s face for his own amusement. 

“Very well then, sir, that concludes our fitting for today. If you would be so kind as to come back next week, I will have the first toile ready for you.” Sanji took a deep bow again and gestured his arm towards the door. 

“What, that’s it? I came all the way here for just that?” 

“My deepest apologies sir, I was too absentminded last time.” 

“Have it done by tomorrow.” 

“I am sorry sir, but that will be impossible given my other orders. But I assure you, it will be worth the wait.” Before Zoro could retaliate, Sanji closed to door firmly, bracing it with his back. He could feel the swordsman’s presence close, Zoro’s frustration heating up the door until it faded with the sound of impatient footsteps echoing down the hall. 

Then, Sanji opened his jacket pocket and pulled out a cigarette. He placed it gingerly on his lips, lit it and inhaled with the grin he has been suppressing.

Yes. It would be worth the wait. It had to be.

*****

Sanji made another sweep around the room. Dusting, check. Windows wiped, check. Fresh flowers, check. Toile, check. He glanced at the clock. Five minutes until showtime. 

Like broken clockwork, Zoro stormed in late, handsome and huffy and Sanji greeted him with grin and grace. He repeated that same niceties, the bowing, the smiling, the “yes sir’s.” For whatever reason, it was those words that visibly stung Zoro the most. Sanji relished every flinch and confused twitch. 

“Welcome back, sir. Your toile is ready, right this way,” Sanji said, with utmost sanguinity. Zoro’s eyes darted at him suspiciously, but the swordsman made no verbal response as he walked toward the mirror. Sanji walked behind him, sweeping his hands out in front to relieve Zoro of his jacket so he could try on the sample. Hanging up Zoro’s jacket nearby, Sanji couldn’t help but take in the rich scent of cedar and, dare he say, leather emanating from it. Cedar called to mind forests he had never been to, leather of raw power and earth strength. Had he been a travelling merchant, this would be the exotic essence he would bottle up and bring back, yet save for no one but himself. 

“Um.” Zoro’s voice snapped Sanji out of his daydream, and he turned his attention again to his client. 

The rest of the fitting continued without much decorum; Sanji was, afterall, a serious craftsman. He noticed a half a centimeter change in Zoro’s shoulders when he measured them last week, meaning the base pattern Zeff had would’ve been useless had he used it. The pants, too, would’ve been a little tight around the thigh; the swordsman’s weight seemed to fluctuate weekly, maybe even daily, depending on his schedule. In other words, Sanji was right to have wanted to redraft Zoro’s patterns from scratch, granted his intentions were purely in his own self interest. Redrafting takes time and time was not so easily bought. 

Zoro’s stoicism today, however, was concerning. Not even his eyes answered Sanji’s innocent questions regarding fit; he simply or said nothing, his body completely reaction-less. It occurred to Sanji that perhaps he had been too convincing in his act and was pushing Zoro away. Hopefully, that wasn’t the case; it would mean Sanji had misjudged him and the tailor was not interested in easy prey. Or could it be that Zoro had caught on and this was his own way of testing Sanji? Why else would he be back without complaint? 

“Thank you for coming today, sir. How does next week sound for your final fitting?” 

“Fine.”

“Very well, sir, we look forward to seeing you then.” 

As Sanji bowed and ushering Zoro out the door, he caught a scowl flicker across Zoro’s jawline, his temples flex in an attempt to contain. Ah, there it is, Sanji thought. The fuming steps that brushed by him reassured Sanji that the swordsman was still plenty pissed. 

Closing the door, the blond tailor closed his eyes and tried to imagine a place with cedar trees and leather chairs. Loosening his tie, he imagined himself on his back, Zoro’s tan perfection over him, overpowering him, punishing him. He shoved a hand down his pants and moaned as he stroked his hard on. Pre-cum oozed out between his thumb and forefinger, but no matter how hard he stoked, he couldn’t get himself off. Fed up, Sanji snapped open his eyes and kicked the door with the back of his heel. His shoe left an indent identical to many others next to it. God, he really fucking needed a cigarette.

*****

“Welcome back, sir.” Zoro didn’t so much as look at Sanji this time, let alone react. The swordsman was, however, surprised by the sight of the master tailor there at his final fitting. Zeff looked unhappy, as usual, his mustache practically pointing at the clock. An hour and twelve minutes tardy was a bit extreme, Sanji had to agree. Was this normal, even for Zeff?

“Punctual, as usual,” Zeff said dryly. Apparently, it was. 

“My apologies, Master Zeff, got a bit lost along the way.” 

“How is that even possible—you know what, never mind. Just get on with the fitting, Sanji.”

Sanji handed Zoro the finished jacket and it’s matching pants. Perfectly erect lapels, sleeves sitting just so across the front panels, bias cut trousers...Sanji had stopped needing the old man’s approval ages ago. In fact, the only reason why Zeff was here was because Sanji needed the perfect prop for act III.

“Hmph,” Zeff said, “Let’s see how the whole thing fits.” The master tailor took a few steps back, crossing his arms. Sanji forgot how irritating he always found that. Could the old man even call himself a tailor anymore if he didn’t actually tailor anything? 

Then Zoro stepped out from the changing screen. Most noblemen wouldn’t dare be seen without their shirts buttoned up or their ascots tied just so, but here was Zoro, clavicle exposed and cravate draped around his neck casually like a towel. The look was disheveled and bohemian and Sanji had to pick up his jaw from the floor. His imagination was already long gone without his permission, conjuring up visions of what Zoro might look like doing push ups on the floor. With Sanji under him. 

Fuck. Sanji bite the inside of his bottom lip and hoped no one noticed. 

Pulling himself together, Sanji walked Zoro over to the mirror and faced him. They were eye to eye for the first time in weeks since Sanji started his little charade and so close that Sanji could lick him. He noted Zeff watching him just beyond Zoro’s shoulder and quickly began adjusting the collar to look busy. He had to keep his cool; there was no point losing face here, no, not after all the trouble he had gone to to marinate his meat; he just hoped that three weeks had been enough. Sanji then shifted his gaze up to Zoro’s and made sure his mouth barely moved as he whispered. 

“You like it when the old man watches, don’t you?” Sanji watched Zoro’s pupils shift and lock into his. A small opening appeared between Zoro’s lips; a gasp. Sanji grinned wide and mean. 

“Does it make you feel like you’re back in the grand salon?” Sanji purred. “Back to where the old man can cup your balls for you and tell you you’re so big?” 

“What the hell are you doing?” Zoro hissed. Sanji kept smiling at Zoro as he slid down his legs to adjust the hem of the pants that were already a perfect fit. 

“I just wanted to see which...lip service you preferred.” Sanji looked up at Zoro again. And then at the swordsman’s hard on. The tailor wasn’t sure when that happened, but he was sure it was for him. The deja vu of it all was just uncanny, except with Zeff watching as the perfect wrench. The swordsman was not having it, but if he were to explode in front of the old man...well that just wasn’t an option. Sanji relished in how Zoro’s eyebrow stoned into a shape that could only mean war, he looked so handsome so angry. The tension in his flawless bronze skin only highlighted the sharpness of his other features, his discontent spreading his mouth wider, just like Sanji wished his legs to be. Zoro in quite the bind was such a delicious sight, Sanji almost forgot what the whole point of this was until Zeff finally spoke. 

“Hmph, looks fine to me. Wrap it up soon, you’ve got another client at four.” With that, Zeff left. 

Between the click of the door and the echoing of footsteps, Sanji found himself slammed back against his bookshelves. His head whipped back against leather bindings, knocking the wind out of him. Zoro had Sanji pinned up, fistfuls of jacket balled up. His eyes raged at the tailor like he could tear Sanji apart and that’s exactly what Sanji had been waiting for. 

“You’ve got a lot of nerve to fuck with me,” Zoro growled. 

“Well, you’ve got a lot of nerves to fuck with.” Sanji couldn’t help himself.

“Fuck you.”

“You offering?”

“Shut up.”

“Make me.”

The slap came hard. So hard it made Sanji’s eyes pop in shock. He didn’t have a chance to look stunned though, because it came again. And again. The strength in Zoro’s hand didn’t let up as it went down and across, over and over again. Sanji’s vision started to blur, his eyes water, and the feeling of fear that settled in the back of his head was absolutely thrilling. What if Zoro never stopped, even after there was no cheek left. 

Before Sanji’s mind had time to wander, Zoro’s lips had caught his. There was a strange and satiating sensation that filled Sanji’s chest as Zoro stormed into his mouth, his tongue making itself at home in the bed of Sanji’s own. While most first kisses with a new partner had a freshness to them, this was different. This felt right. It felt so right the way Zoro’s lips sucked the life out of him, while his tongue washed it back. His left cheek was burning hot, the kiss devastatingly wet and Sanji, for once, was at a loss. He tried to pull away for air, find some kind of ground, but Zoro only snarled and dragged him back in. There was no getting out of this mess he had made unscathed. 

Then Sanji heard a pop. A series of pops. His mouth still locked with Zoro’s and his vision finally stabilizing, Sanji could make out the buttons on his shirt tumbling to the ground as Zoro torn through the front placket of his shirt, his tie whip snapping off of him. He caught a glimpse of bronze pecs pumping as Zoro’s arms made quick work of discarding his shirt and his jacket into an angry heap. God, it was hot. Sanji realized his hands had been idle and started to reciprocate in undressing the swordsman, but he was stopped again with another slap. 

Before Sanji could protest, his torso was already slammed on his desk. Zoro then grabbed the roots of his hair and started violently wiping off the contents with Sanji’s face. Notes and pens scattered off onto the floor as Sanji felt paper cuts open on his right cheek. The air on the tiny but many new wounds stung and singed; it was exhilarating. 

When the desk was deemed sufficiently clear for Zoro, Sanji felt the other man slow down, though his hand was still netted in Sanji’s locks. 

“Put your hands by your ribs,” Zoro ordered in a low, unhurried tone, “And don’t make a sound.” Face stinging, mind unthinking, Sanji let his hands slide obediently to his sides, hoping to find purchase on the flat mahogany. He was bent in a compromising position, his backside bare and his ass, though still in his pants, was no less vulnerable. 

Then, Sanji felt Zoro’s other hand palm his asscheek, spreading one aside so the other man’s cock could dock completely against him. Zoro’s hardened length then rubbed up and over Sanji’s all too ready asshole. Torturous friction heated his ache, his hips rocking with the promise of a good, solid fuck. It had been weeks and volumes of self control getting to this moment; now with meer pieces of fabric between them, Sanji could barely stand his own hard on pinned against the desk. He let out a gasp. 

“What did I just say?” Zoro said in a dangerous voice. Without warning, Sanji’s mouth was suddenly filled with a wad of fabric, possible leftover muslin. The course texture spilled out over his lips, and so did his pants to the floor before his saliva could barely soften the make-shift gag. Now, practical stark naked, Sanji tried to keep his breath from hitching in anticipation. His chest heaved on the desk and his cut cheek tried to turn with his head toward Zoro. It was slammed back into place without mercy. 

“Tch tch,” Sanji heard. Zoro’s hand palmed his left cheek again, only this time, instead of spreading him, he gave his white ass a hearty smack. Not the cute kind of slap that would make a girl squeal, no, the kind that would make a full grown man buck forward and his eyes rattle. Sanji’s weeping dick hit the desk in a painful recoil and he yelled in protest into the gag. The tailor could hear the swordsman chuckle, then he felt another smack on the same ass cheek. Then another. And another. The same pain, the same sting, the same rhythm. The force behind each hit was so consistent in delivery, it seemed to reassure Sanji that there was no need to ask for more; no, if anything he would get it in spades. It was just a matter of time...and yet, ironically, he couldn’t wait one more fucking second. 

Then the slapping stopped and the grip on Sanji’s hair loosened. His ass was on fire and his breath pocketed, but Sanji had enough awareness about him to feel Zoro’s hand claim his hip. Then he felt it; a hot mound of flesh entering his ass and prying open his mind. 

Zoro’s cock filled Sanji and it filled him good and fast. Pain, pleasure, and prayers all shot through him into the filthiest scream to ever be muffled. Sanji had completely forgotten to lube, but there seemed to be no stopping Zoro; he thrust his entire length into Sanji’s whimpering ass, making sure his hips sealed the entrance with a smack each time. Tears started to well up in his eyes, which had started to fail him. His vision became pulses, pulses in line with the rough, yet rhythmic pummelling his asshole was getting. His body rippled dutifully to the command of Zoro’s hips, sweat pearling off his chest now as Sanji tried to huff air through his gag and his fleeting sanity. 

“Tell me what you want,” Zoro growled suddenly. Sanji barely heard the orders, his mind too absorbed in Zoro’s delicious thrusts. Zoro’s back now hovered over his, slowing his pace to a steady rock, but not without the confident smack at the end of each wave. Of course, Sanji wanted to beg the green haired Adonis to let him come, but his mouth was a dry factory of panting, still stuff with muslin. Zoro pulled the wad of cloth out, freeing Sanji’s mouth for mere moments before inserted it with a few fingers. Then, the swordsman pulled out of him completely, inciting a moan from Sanji. 

“Answer me,” Zoro whispered into the shell of Sanji’s ear and drove his fingers deeper into the blond’s mouth. They ventured down Sanji’s throat just enough to trigger his gag reflex, causing him to bite down on Zoro’s fingers as his eyes watered from the invasive move. Zoro didn’t flinch, but rather kept his fingers where they were. The thumb of his hand steadied on Sanji’s chin and turned his face slightly towards his. Bleary eyed and almost out of his mind, Sanji could just about make out the other man’s features. He tried to swallow, but his saliva simply preferred to follow the curve of Zoro’s hand. He closed his eyes and started to suck on Zoro’s fingers, hoping they would be kind enough to let him off the hook for a second. They did not. Instead, they pressed on his tongue like a dispenser as if to humiliate him.

“I...want...you,” Sanji tried to croak between fingers, his eyes worn by a lust that wouldn’t quit. His chest was heaving now, his breath finally catching up to what was happening. Sanji realized how slutty he must look, how positively dirty and low, and he couldn’t care less. He was done with thinking, done with feeling. For the love of god, he thought, just fuck me till I’m nothing. 

Maybe Zoro heard him, maybe he didn’t, but either way, it didn’t really matter what Sanji wanted; Zoro’s dick was in charge and Sanji could only be grateful that it rammed right back into him with a single thrust. Sanji’s shoulders recoiled and he almost bit down on Zoro’s fingers. Zoro seemed to notice the misstep and returned in kind with a solid back hand to Sanji’s paper-cut cheek. Then, Zoro resumed a drilling pace, his balls slapped Sanji’s and his grip on the tailor’s waist promising shameful bruises. Sanji’s torso sanded his desk, his fingers pressing for dear life onto that unhelpful surface, as moans welled up in his gut. Zoro’s cock was pounding his eyesight out of him and Sanji’s body, out of reflex, tried to adjust for stability by turning up. Heat was suffocating Sanji’s throat and groin, both from the battering against the desk and the helpless arousal that said beating had built up. Sanji ached to touch himself, his untended hard-on needed attention badly. His attempts to move his hands, however, were met by a now familiar smack to his ass as Sanji felt both the sting on his asscheck and Zoro’s hand shoving the small of his back into a steeper arch. Zoro then grabbed both of Sanji’s forearms in one hand, restraining and reminding the tailor that this was not for him to enjoy. 

Sanji’s body was consumed in a whirl of ache and confusion; his synapses at a loss of where to connect. He could only feel the connection at his entrance now, as Zoro’s cock rammed back into his prostate again and again. There wasn’t space for any bit of Sanji left; only room for Zoro and what he was giving him, which was absolute euphoria. Sanji felt his bodily functions shut down and his ability to discern dissolve as Zoro’s pace hastened, his breathing becoming shorter grunts, and the smacking between ass and thigh more desperate. 

At this rate, Zoro was coming inside him and there was nothing Sanji could do or even wanted to do about it. With each breath of barely-there air and each smack of Zoro’s gorgeous thighs against him, Sanji felt his entire existence reduce to a hole; a hole for Zoro’s pleasure and no other purpose. Here he was, ass up, jaw slack, cuts and bruises burning in syncopation with the moans he tried to bite back. Never in his wettest dreams could Sanji have imagined the position he would be in now, surrendering to a girth that felt god-like. It felt good, it felt so fucking, damn good. 

With his hands locked and his face full of table, Sanji felt the orgasm wipe his mind blank. Glorious nothingness accompanied by a symphony of pleasure sent ripples throughout his body that could only leave him gaping as his eyes blacked out. Heat undulated out of him as thick gobs of cum shot out down his leg and onto the floor. Not soon after Sanji realized he had come, Zoro’s grip dug into him as the other man thrust harder into him with reckless intent that jolted him back to insanity. The other man let out a drawn out moan and then Sanji could feel the throb of Zoro’s orgasm against his walls, the beautiful shuddering of his thick cock deep within him. 

Being a tease had been fucking exhausting. Though Sanji had dared Zoro not to hold back with him, that is exactly what the tailor had done to the swordsman these past few weeks. The payoff was more than what Sanji could’ve asked for. The pain, the pleasure, the release. Fucking finally. But now that it had happened, Sanji couldn’t help but think, what next? Could he entice the nobleman back here for more than a fitting? Whatever completion Sanji started to feel began to dissipate with the retreat of hips that had been locked. 

“Put your fingers in your ass,” Sanji suddenly heard. His body completely spent, Sanji struggled to find feeling in his left arm but then somehow managed to insert two fingers into his opening. They went in easily after what his asshole had just been through. But the sudden movement made his knees buckle from the shift in balance and his right arm grappled the edge of the desk just in time to stop him from collapsing completely. Sanji swore he heard Zoro chuckle behind him, clearly pleased with the state he had left him in.

“Lick yourself,” Zoro commanded. 

If it’s a show Zoro wanted, then a show he would get. Slowly regaining composure, Sanji lowered himself down to the ground, sitting as his knees in a tangle of his clothes. With his fingers still inside himself, he used his right arm to turn himself around until he was facing Zoro. Then, in a controlled fashion, Sanji scooped his inserted hand out from underneath him as he repositioned himself with his back against the desk, legs folded delicately out in front of him, pants and other garments elegantly binding his ankles. Zoro was towering over him, still fully clothed, though his shirt was drenched with sweat. His expression was no longer of anger but of amusement and it waited for Sanji to show him what it had asked for. 

Arching his neck open, easily his second best feature, Sanji locked eyes with the nobleman as he lifted his hand and sucked each tainted digit loudly. He parted his lips just enough to let the pink of his tongue dart through the web of his long fingers and when he was done, let his tongue loose in dripping strides to spread the remnants of Zoro’s cum up and down inside of his forearm. Sanji couldn’t help but grin as he watched the swordsman jaw slack and his lips part in awe. His blue eyes never left Zoro’s green until he finished cleaning himself with a satisfying smack of his lips. 

The two men stood there, regarding each other in silence, until Sanji noticed the time. His next client would be here in 2 minutes. 

“Three more jackets, all black.” Zoro said. “Have the toiles ready by tomorrow.” 

“Of course, sir.”


	3. The Cleaning of the Swords

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is for @auspizien in particular because their porn-star fic "Farcical Feelings" literally changed my life. if you haven't read it, you're in for a treat. i put a single, visual line in as a humble homage; i hope you enjoy.
> 
> as always, thank you @niigiirii for BETAing it for me. you are my audience of one.

Zoro’s monthly sparring match with his father was more of a disaster than usual. By the end of only the fifth hour, the green haired man was already spent, spit pooling in his mouth just to hold onto his third sword as well as his concentration. Too much mental energy had been squandered on constantly re-centering because with every blink came flashes of blue. Blue and blond and skin so creamy, he wanted to cut it. Melt it. Spread it. 

These thoughts blocked him into a humiliating defeat. As he braced the floor with his exhaustion and listened to the deafening sound of disappointment echoing with his father’s leaving footsteps, Zoro realized that for the first time in his life, he was distracted. 

Zoro spit his sword onto the ground, throwing the other two Katana down with it. He strode over to the attendants holding white towels and refreshments, face twisted and knuckles tensed as he roughly accepted a glass of lime water. 

“Sir, you mustn’t…” one of them said, gingerly reaching for the weapons with a look of concern. 

“I know!” Zoro snapped back, regretting his actions already. “I know.” He threw back the drink and walked back over to his swords with a polishing cloth in hand. Extending the hand out to stop the attendant, he heaved a sigh as he knelt down to reach for them himself. 

“Out.”

As the doors to the practice hall quickly closed with a metallic click, Zoro heaved a sigh of relief. He didn’t like people around when he was polishing his swords these days. He felt like the purity of the process was tainted by the presence of outsiders, like a lake disturbed by unnecessary rocks. No, he found that he prefered the solitude, the sunlight on his back as he sat cross-legged on the floor. He could feel the stress relaxing off his face with each wipe of cloth and later, puff of oil. He repeated the process with his eyes on his hand as it worked in familiar strokes, back and forth, back and forth, until all three swords lay gleaming in front of him. 

Thoughts of the tailor wandered back into his consciousness as Zoro worked. He should’ve been pissed, God knows that was one of only two moods he was known for. Instead, he was strangely calm, so calm it alarmed him. 

Rather than thinking of ways to punish Sanji, Zoro wondered what tools the tailor used in his work. Did he have a cleaning ritual like he did? He tried to imagine what Sanji looked like when no one else was around. 

The sun felt warm again suddenly. The weather hadn’t been this good in awhile, or perhaps this was the first time Zoro was taking note. He closed his eyes briefly before getting up to wash up before dinner. 

*****

The bathhouse was in a separate building, but nonetheless lavish and tranquil in its marble indoor baths and outdoor hot springs. Zoro had found a nook under the waterfall recently that he kept coming back to. His eyes were closed and water pouring over his head and thoughts. 

Zoro had discovered a lot of things in the last fews weeks, maybe even over a month since he’d last been to the atelier. It was the longest break he had suffered since Sanji and him had come to their little arrangement. Before that, the longest had been two weeks, enough time for a brush or a cut to heal completely. Sometimes, he would cover one with the other, just see what color it would change to the next time. And the next. And the next. 

It all came down to his father’s announcements of their next match. They were never planned and when they were determined, Zoro would throw himself even harder into training, fueled by the memories of failures. In his training, time and space gave way to only focus on his goal. This time had been no different as Zoro’s volition had always been true; he had not counted on, however, the constant invasion of outside thoughts. His last encounter with Sanji had etched itself particularly in his mind, not simply because it was the most recent, but because it was the most arousing. 

He had come in for another jacket, or whatever excuse they had conjured up in innuendos and lascivious taunts. His appointment was the last of the day and Zoro had built his week on thinking of ways to lay waste before the sun set. 

Upon entering however, all the nobleman’s plans went out the window. There Sanji was, already stark naked and draped perfectly on his desk longways with a coil of rope in his mouth and a come-hither look in his eyes. The way he had positioned himself elongated his frame elegantly like a marble gift, carved and ready just for this occasion, just for him. Zoro took in the sight with a long inhale and locked the door with a care uncharacteristic of himself. He who hated waiting. He who always got his way. Maybe this time, since they had time, he should take it. 

Zoro put his hands in his pockets and took purposeful steps towards the desk without taking his eyes off of Sanji’s. Those blue eyes were always up to something, though Zoro could never guess quite what. But boy, did he enjoy it. 

His feet reached the desk. Sanji had not once stirred or so much as blinked. He simply stared up at the green haired man’s torso towering over him. Zoro placed both his hands down on the desk, like a teacher dealing with a delinquent student. He studied him and then studied the rope. Based on the number of coils, there was a good few meters. 

Plenty to play around with. Or punish. 

Zoro lifted his right hand up slowly. He raised it up to Sanji’s cheek, just hovering over the skin, but instead of making contact, lifted the rope out of his mouth. He felt Sanji’s jaw unlatch to release it, leaving a thin trail of saliva. He watched the way saliva threaded out of Sanji’s parted lips, the other man not making a single attempt to sever it. Zoro swallowed again. 

“Kneel.” Zoro tapped the end of the desk. 

Sanji obeyed, swinging his legs behind himself. He faced forward with his back straight and sat on the balls of his feet. 

Zoro slowly uncoiled the rope, gauging its length as he fed it through his hands. When he felt he had reached halfway, he gripped both sides, twisted and broke the rope into two pieces with brute strength. He heard Sanji inhale sharply and it made him grin. 

“Hands behind your neck.” Sanji obliged, lacing his fingers at the base of his skull. “Shoulders back.” Zoro watched Sanji’s chest expand, opening that elegant throat. 

Zoro placed one length of rope on the table and formed a Lark’s head with the other. He then wrapped double columns around Sanji’s left folded leg, looping and looping until a thick band formed. He finished binding the thigh and shin together, securing it with a surgeon’s knot on the outside. 

Rounding around the desk to the other side, Zoro then turned his attention to the other leg. Noticing the contrast between the tied leg and the free one, he realized he might’ve rushed through the first job. 

Slow down. Take it in. 

Zoro picked up the remaining rope and prepared it as before. Instead of immediately threading under the shin, however, he let his hand land softly on the inside of Sanji’s thigh. He heard the other man gasp as he watched the pale skin ripple at his touch. He leaned in. Closer. Close enough for his face to make contact but not. There, Zoro hovered and listened to Sanji’s uneven breaths as he stroked the inside of his thigh, up and down and up and down until up went Sanji’s cock. 

Leaving the blond man’s hard-on unattended, Zoro resumed frog tying the other leg. Then he stepped back and made his way to the head of the table to admire his work. 

Knees spread, legs secured, elbows wide open, torso stretched long, and that cock at attention. What a sight. From across the desk, Sanji looked like a gorgeous ornament or piece of furniture. A shame to break it down so soon. 

That’s when Zoro noticed the silver drink tray by the seat nearby. 

“Stay.” 

Zoro walked over and brought the tray back. Atop it was Zoro’s kept bottle of whiskey, a small metal bucket of ice with tongs, and a sturdy drinking glass. He put the tray down on the desk in front of Sanji. 

“Get on all fours.”

Sanji gave him a puzzled look, but then looked down at the tray. He unlaced his fingers and slowly lowered his arms. Lowering his torso, he carefully placed his hands beyond the tray, avoiding contact. Lastly, he pushed himself up and his knees underneath himself. 

Zoro smiled at his new table. He picked up the tray from under Sanji and placed it squarely on his back. Sanji let out a gasp, no doubt from the cooling touch of metal to bare skin. The nobleman then took the tongs and deposited a large block of ice into the glass. He opened the bottle and poured his usual portion. The ice clicked and rattled as Sanji’s body adjusted to the contents on its back. 

Picking up his drink, Zoro sat himself right in front of Sanji. He could see Sanji’s chest pumping out uneven breaths, trying to stabilize the tray with the strain of having to balance on his knee caps. Zoro raised his glass to his lips, tilted and let a sip past his lips. He swallowed and wiped his bottom lip with a thumb. 

Then, he leaned down to Sanji the Table. Blue eyes stared back at him and watched him as he slowly pressed his thumb past Sanji’s bottom lip. Into the mouth. Over the teeth. Finding the tongue. 

Ah. There it is. 

His thumb pressed onto the bed of the tongue. He pressed in further and further, threatening to go all the way back. Sanji struggled to accommodate; Zoro could feel the other man’s jaw clench and the pop of a muffled gag. God, what a lovely sound it was. 

“Suck.”

Sanji obeyed. He puckered his lips and tightened his cheeks as Zoro eased his thumb in and out. The feeling felt so familiar, so tantalizing that the urgency to fuck the other man senseless returned. It was the feeling of this skilled mouth on his cock the very first time they met and the many times since. He started to pump Sanji’s mouth faster and faster, unable to take his eyes off the other man’s earnest expression. 

Somehow, Zoro snapped out of it and stopped. Teasing the other man had backfired and instead, he was starting to lose it before his dick had even been touched. What was going on? He pulled his thumb out quickly and stepped back onto the ground. He made his way behind Sanji to regain his dominance and as he placed his drink on the tray, his free hand reached straight for the blond’s asshole.

But as his thumb began to rim Sanji’s entrance, Zoro felt yet another familiar wetness. Lube. Zoro couldn’t help but smirk. The clever bastard had already prepped himself. No doubt to skip a bit of foreplay in favor of the main event.

But he hadn’t loosened himself up, or so he hoped. Zoro preferred to do the honors. Only one way to find out. 

Zoro calmed his anticipation with a deep breath, something their sessions had taught him. The more present he was, the longer his orgasm lasted. So he took his time, slowly unbuttoning his jacket and folding it over the nearby chair. Next came his shirt. Then his shoes and socks. Finally, his pants. 

All the while, the tray shook ever so slightly, but Zoro could hear the impatient hitch in Sanji’s breathing. 

Zoro then lifted one leg up by Sanji’s left side and enclosed the blond in between him by sliding the other knee on the other side. The beast with two backs was now on top of the desk. Mounting the blond, Zoro gripped his own cock and started to stroke it against the other man’s scrotum and down to his ball sack. The tailor moaned in protest. 

“Don’t spill.” 

Zoro leaned down and opened one of the side drawers—he knew where everything was in this room now—and pulled out the lube. He placed a few drops in his hand and then worked the liquid liberally over his own cock. The top was raging hot and all too eager to begin like he was the moment he opened that door. No, long before then. 

Zoro took a moment to survey his rope work with his hands. He curled them around Sanji’s exposed hips and down to the binding. The tray trembled, the ice clacked dangerously. He felt the contrast between clenched muscle and flexed hemp. He bit his bottom lip at the possibility of immobility from the other man. These legs could do things to him and now, they were too occupied. He circled down around the kneecap—sore by now, for sure—back up the shin to the binding and then finally, the still free feet. 

Ah, those feet. He let his fingertips graze the heel and slide down the arch, that impossibly high arch, and back up again. He closed his eyes as he enjoyed the incurve and outcurves, something he had never bothered to do, or perhaps never had the opportunity to since they were usually by his own feet or around his back.

Zoro then returned his hands to where they started, squarely on Sanji’s hips. He clenched his teeth as he wordlessly made clear his intentions by palming Sanji’s ass, letting a thumb slide over the opening occasionally, enjoying the delightful vocals it elicited and then returning to a solid grip with one hand. The other steadied his member as he lifted his hips for a better angle and shoved the tip in.

“Aughhh!” A genuine sound of surprise that could only confirm one thing. Zoro was right and Sanji was tight. So incredibly. Deliciously. Tight. Zoro’s eyelids fluttered and his jaw quivered, relishing the sensation of the first dive. He could hear Sanji panting below him, trying to brace himself and the tray. He gripped Sanji’s asscheeks tighter and started kneeding them forward and rowing them back as he started to pull out. Then eased back in ever so slowly, inciting further moans of complaint from the other man. In and out Zoro went at an excruciating pace, each time letting Sanji’s plush asshole pull him in just a little bit deeper. 

Of course, Zoro wanted to shove himself in cheek deep. But he had noticed there were times that if he withheld himself from indulging, it would be even more unbearable of a wait for Sanji. Being able to hold that tease of a tailor in suspense gave him a sense of authority. Of ownership. The increase in moans was proof of his theory. That knowledge of the power the swordsman had over him had made it easier to slow his pace this time, to take in the moment instead. 

Zoro rolled Sanji’s hips once again and let the wave of the motion slide his cock into him. This time, he was fully docked and Sanji was full on gasping like he had been sprinting. The tray was shaking so much it was orchestrating an overture of sorts. Of glass and ice and metal and whiskey. Zoro’s breathing was also becoming more laboured, his shoulders rounding and his head dizzy with the fullness of Sanji’s ass around him. 

Then the pulsing began. 

Fuck. 

The walls of Sanji’s ass started to expand and contract onto his cock, tightening and loosening him, urging him to go on. Zoro’s body conceded without his consent, bucking into Sanji a slow but steady pace. Both men’s breathing started to align in frequency and in tune with each thrust. Wave after wave, row after row, the fire stoked in Zoro’s core started to burn hotter and hotter. 

His breathing was becoming a mix of gasps and hisses, jaw slack and head thrown back as he fell into a trance. The fire was blazing, almost out of control. Heat trapped itself in his chest and the smoke clouded his mind with promises of absolute ecstasy. Sanji’s ass felt like an expert hand leading him there, telling him to go faster and faster. 

Yes, go faster. 

Zoro started thrusting faster, harder, deeper. Soon, he was at a violent rock, his fingers digging into Sanji’s asscheeks, almost tearing them off. The whiskey bottle toppled onto the ground with a crash, scattering liquid gold and broken glass. The ice bucket followed, then the glass, last was the tongs, thrown way off to the side. Glass splintering and clacking, metallic splashes and clanging against liquid and wood. And yet, none of that cacophony could muffle the shameless moans of pleasure from either man.

Zoro was nearly gone. Only the whites of his eyes felt air, his open jaw barely drawing in oxygen. His mind was blank with coherent thoughts, just orders to keep pounding into Sanji. With Sanji’s welcoming wetness egging him on, he would’ve kept pumping and pumping, letting it milk him until there was nothing left. 

God, Sanji’s ass felt amazing. How could sex with one person feel so good even after so many times? 

Whatever suddenly repossessed Zoro to glance down slowed him. It made him see the sweat run down between Sanji’s shoulder blades and his eyes notice the delicate incurve of the thinner man’s waist. He saw the eyelet impressions his grip had left on those pale asscheeks, the feet turning paler than white from blood loss. 

Without a word or a second thought, Zoro pulled out of Sanji and flipped him over onto his back. The two were face to face again and the look on Sanji’s face read as a mixture of pain and utter shock. Zoro responded by easing his cock back into him, jolting Sanji’s chest up in the air and a groan out with it. 

“Hands. Behind. Your. Neck.”

Sanji did so, and Zoro watched him struggle to lay his elbows down like before. Zoro’s thrusts keep jostling the blond’s movements every which way, his gasps becoming more erratic. His chest was heaving up and down, as a fiery shade of pink flowered around Sanji’s throat and colored his neck. 

Yeah, that’s it. Zoro wanted to watch him cum. He needed to. 

Finding purchase with one of Sanji’s bound legs in the air, Zoro then steadied himself with one hand and began stroking Sanji’s weeping cock with his other. Sanji’s cries grew more urgent, more palpable, his torso thrashing like an insect helpless in water. Now it was the swordsman milking the tailor, the other man’s hips growing wilder and throwing off Zoro’s rhythm. Zoro seized the base of Sanji’s tip suddenly, edging him from an orgasm and Sanji’s eyes looked horrified. 

“Beg.”

“What, no! Please, NO!” Sanji’s breath was labored and his tone desperate. Zoro could feel his shaft tensing, knowing full well that if Sanji lost it, if he came this close but not quite to completion, the pleasure would be ruined. 

“Beg. Now.” Sanji looked like the world was about to end. 

“BEG.”

“Please, fuck, please, please just let me come, I’m so close, please, GOD, PLEASE SIR LET ME COME!” 

Sanji’s wailing sounded so miserable and so intensely needy and he loved it. Zoro loved it. He released the other man and barrelled his hips into him, throwing back the blond’s knees and his ass up, giving him a better angle. Their foreheads were nearly touching as Zoro braced the edge of the desk over Sanji’s head. In and out Zoro went in his labourer stampede to make Sanji come harder and hotter than before. Than ever. He stared at that mouth gaping at him until it became a blur of tongue, those blue eyes with their astonished confusion until they became white. 

Zoro felt Sanji’s cum on his stomach, bursting out in angry heat. He felt Sanji’s chest buck up and his shoulders spasm onto the surface of the desk. He watched until the last of the tailor’s cries died in his throat. For the first time, Zoro had watched Sanji cum and it was beautiful, so breathtakingly beautiful.

And now it was his turn. 

Zoro pushed himself back up and resumed thrusting before even letting Sanji catch his breath. The other man lay in an obedient haze before him, head still thrown back and asshole helpless, but his arms in place. The orgasm had kept him plenty loose and Zoro once again found his rhythm. Grabbing onto Sanji’s legs like handlebars, he rode the other man to the edge of his own completion. 

Sanji’s face. Zoro wanted to come on Sanji’s face. The gorgeous, wide mouth gasping for him, let him spill his juice over it and watch him clean it up. 

Zoro pulled out and scrambled clumsily over the man under him, searching for that mouth with his hips. He gripped his throbbing member, stroking it like fire over it when he found it. Then Zoro felt a tongue lick his scrotum and a hand stroke his ball sack encouragingly. He slid his length down that willing mouth and let the new wetness take him. Fuck. Yes. He let his hips take the wheel, grinding into Sanji’s face, at first with finesse to set the pace but soon with reckless abandon as he approached his end. Before he knew it, Zoro grunted out a final moan and his own load. 

The orgasm shot through Zoro. It exited like a bullet out of his mouth into not a sound but a magasin of exhales. He felt blankness in the back of his skull and light explode from within. It felt like eternity in a second. It felt incredible.

Zoro relished in that feeling until he felt himself become soft. He had intended to paint the blond’s face with his cum, a power move he very much enjoyed on Sanji, but Zoro’s plans constantly wavering seemed like this was a common occurrence between them. Sanji’s mouth continued to suckle him until he regained his strength. He etched his hips forward, letting the blond out from underneath him and slowly unwound himself. He could sense the other man picking himself up as well and he followed suit, remaining back to back. Zoro’s eyelashes fluttered to check operations. His hand felt his face and ran itself through his hair. He let out a long, satisfied sigh. Fucking wow. 

Turning around, Zoro saw that Sanji was already sitting up, rubbing his face with a cloth. One of the desk drawers was still open, revealing a cache of clean rags. Zoro looked down to see that Sanji’s legs were still bound. But when he made a reach to help untie them, Sanji pulled his leg away. 

“It’s fine.” Sanji smiled wearily but didn’t look at him. 

Zoro pulled his hand back. He watched Sanji undo one leg, revealing to him the incriminating red evidence on that white canvas. He watched him undo the other leg. He watched the blond lift himself gingerly onto the floor and get dressed. He marveled at the beauty of the contrast, the wreckage against the glow of Sanji’s skin. But he said nothing. 

Zoro said nothing even as he carefully navigated the floor and got his own clothes. Nor did he look up as he put on his jacket and straightened out his collar. In the end, he left without saying anything at all.

On the coach ride home, it occurred to him that what Zoro felt was beyond words. He had just experienced the best orgasm of his life with someone he had fucked regularly now, but knew little about. They hardly even spoke this time. And yet, their pushing and pulling had somehow tuned them into a decidedly perfect harmony. He was in awe. No one gave themselves to Zoro the way Sanji did, especially not like today. There were no questions, no qualms, just surrender. What was he supposed to say to that, a simple “thank you?” It would be an insult. “You were great?” How demeaning. “See you next week?” His normal commands seemed out of touch. 

Zoro groaned, closed his eyes and massaged the place between his eyebrows with his thumb and index finger. Lost in thought and without an immediate conclusion, it wasn’t until he got home that he realized he had completely forgotten about his order. 

******

Back under the waterfall, not much had changed, except that Zoro’s limbs had gone pruney and one of his valets had announced for a fourth time that dinner had already started without him. Reluctantly, he got up. He put on his after-bath yukata and towel dried his head. 

On the way back to his room to change, Zoro thought of maybe seeking some time at the Madame’s for further release. There wouldn’t be another high society ball for another week or two, so that was always an option. 

The idea of some other bottom not being Sanji, however, made Zoro’s face twist in disapproval. No one there, even with the place’s reputation, could do for him what Sanji does. Perhaps the lack of sex had wound him up, but the possibility of mediocre sex was far worse.

His thoughts ended up getting him lost. Damn, this house. He paused to find his bearings, the few that he had, and saw the practice room. Stepping by it, the sight of the swords, glowing in the moonlight swelled his chest with pride. A flash of that afternoon, of the moment he had distastefully thrown them on the floor made him cringe. In other words, the moment he had left Sanji in a wrecked room of sweat, cum and disaster. Speechless or not, that was no way to treat something so important to him. 

Filled to the brim with self-loathing, Zoro stormed in and grabbed one of his swords. He had an idea. 

Now then. Where was that closet of his?

*********

“Son. Explain yourself.” 

“Explain what?”

“You know what.”

“Good grief, are you in your pajamas?” Perona looked alarmed for the count, who was expressionless despite his words. 

Zoro was, indeed, not dressed, at least to his father’s standards. Instead of a usual dinner jacket, collared shirt, and cravat, he wore his black kinagashi instead, belted low with his chest scar exposed, and some geta on his feet. 

“Well?”

Zoro shrugged. 

“Go change. Now.” 

“Can’t.”

“Why?”

“No clothes.” 

“What?”

“They’re indisposed.”

“Father, I think he’s trying to outspend you since he can’t outsword you.” Perona rolled her eyes. Zoro ignored her as he assumed his seat across from her. He ate calmly, but quickly in silence. The count took a few more bites and a sip of wine. Knives and forks clicked awkwardly. 

“Destroying our image will help you surpass me, you think?”

“The thought crossed my mind.”

“You’re being insolent.”

“And you’re being unreasonable, Father. How do you expect me or Perona to train when all we have to do is go to fittings? Is this your idea of ‘efficiency?’”

“Hey! Don’t align yourself with me; I have my own couturiere now.”

“Since when?”

“Since the last war campaign we were hired on, you bonehead; she’s the reason why I even put in more effort for a bigger cut.” She took a self-satisfied bite of dessert. “Anyway, I hate bothering to actually GO to a fitting, how bourgeois. Haven’t you noticed I’ve reconstructed the entire east wing to house her?” Perona’s incredulous eyes suddenly narrowed to a sneer. “Oh wait, you couldn’t have. You wouldn’t know how to get there.”

“Why you little…”

“Enough.” The count placed down his dessert spoon. “Zoro, notify Master Zeff immediately that we will require an in-house tailor at once.” 

“Excuse me?”

“I will not repeat myself.” The count picked up his spoon and resumed eating his flan. “As long as you live under this house, you obey its rules. Now, get out of my sight.” 

Zoro stood up and made his way towards the exit. 

“As you wish, Father.”

The dining hall echoed with the sound of his wooden sandals. As he rounded the corner and when no one was around, Zoro let himself smirk. Things had gone even better than he had planned. He had prepared for a longer bait-and-catch with his father, but thanks surprisingly to his sister, her chime-in sped up the process. Nevermind that she insulted him and wasn’t wrong; he hadn’t noticed her renovations to the house at all. 

Anyway, that Perona. She sure could be helpful sometimes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i had intended for this story to end after 7 chapters, but i decided i love this world too much not to explore it to the fullest. so i'm sorry but if you were looking for completion yourself soon, it will not come (cum lol). BUT i can promise you this: every chapter WILL have sex in it because when i say porn with plot, i mean it.


	4. The Arrangement

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT (5/14): Reworked the carriage scene for clarity. i admit i rushed through this one, so might be coming back often to it until Chap 5 is released. 
> 
> an essay follows this chapter that isn't directly related, but is something i've been meaning to get off my chest. 
> 
> thank you for reading <3

Sanji couldn’t believe what he was hearing. 

“You want me to what?” 

“Do I have to spell it out for you? You’re leaving for the Mihawk estate. Right now!” Zeff looked perfectly serious as he stood in the middle of Sanji’s workroom, watching his assistants pack Sanji’s things in a flurry. 

“Wait, don’t I get a say in this?” 

“No, actually, you don’t. ”

“But I’m your best fucking tailor! Hell, even better than you!”

“I know, I know, you know I don’t deny that you are.”

“So why do you keep trying to get rid of me?”

“The real question is why don’t you want to put yourself out there?” 

“Because...because you need me!” 

“That’s what you think.”

“You’ve lost your mind, old man,” Sanji said furiously lighting up a cigarette, “I mean, I knew you’d go senile one day, but didn’t think it would be this soon.” 

Zeff paid him no mind. 

“Make sure you check under the mattress in the bedroom, bound to be more cigarettes there,” the master yelled to one of the clerks, as he headed for the door. “Hate those damn things.” 

“When did this even happen?” Sanji followed him closely, huffing and puffing “It’s only six in the morning, for god’s sake, helluva way to wake up.” Sanji took a few more puffs, but his fingers were still shaking. Sure, he was sick of the old man and his authoritarian rule, but this was his home. It was all he knew. 

“Hmm, last night some time? Just got off the denden mushi to confirm a minute ago.” Zeff flew down the spiral staircase, as if he was trying to outrun Sanji. “Anyway, can’t keep him waiting.”

“Waiting where? This is ludicrous. You can’t do this. You can’t just make me leave, what about my other clients?” 

“Patty and Carne can handle your other clients’ orders just fine. You’re not the only one here who knows how to do a prick stitch.”

“You’re the prick.”

“And you’re a little shit. How that nobleman puts up with you, I don’t fucking know, but I don’t really give a damn because thank god, you’ll finally be out of my hair.”

“I didn’t agree to shit.”

“You don’t have to, I already did for you.” Zeff waved an envelope at him and tucked it into Sanji’s inner breast pocket and gave it a condescending pat. “Here’s the contract. Brought it here himself. Read at your own leisure.”

“What do you mean ‘already did??’ And ‘brought it himself,’ what, you mean, he’s here, like, right now?!” Sanji glared at the old tailor and then at the clerks rushing out of the main entrance with his belongings. “All of you, hey! Put my shit BACK!” He tossed his cigarette and chased after them but was blinded by the sudden rush of sunlight.

Outside, a ghost-drawn carriage awaited him, with the other tailors at the atelier lined up along the path leading up to it, shouting and throwing flower petals in the air for him as if he was getting married. He could feel the blush of embarrassed rage flushing across his face. Zeff pushed him to start walking.

“Mr. Vinsmoke, congratulations!” one tailor said as he passed them by. 

“Some bastards have all the luck.”

“Gosh, must be nice to have a patron.”

“Come back and see us sometime!”

“Best of luck, Mr. Vinsmoke!” 

“You’re all a bunch of fucking wankers,” Sanji yelled at them as the crowd pushed him into the coach and slammed the door in his face. Some of them had tears in their eyes and even Zeff was suddenly pulling out a handkerchief. What the flying fuck. 

Sanji watched in disbelief through the side window as the atelier got smaller and smaller.

“Not happy to see me?” Sanji turned towards the person talking to him. 

Zoro had his legs and arms crossed, swords tucked behind him, but his attire revealed a shiny shin and a smug expression. He had on what appeared to be a dark green, robe-like garment tied loosely with a sash at the hip that looked thrown-on but somehow put-together against the gothic black velvet seats and mahogany walls. That chest blatantly advertising his battlescar. Sanji’s pupils dilated, he hadn’t seen a kinagashi before in real life and as mad as he was at the nobleman, he had to admit the green-haired man could pull off any look. 

“No, actually,” he smiled sarcastically while massaging his temples, “Quite the opposite.” The interior of the carriage looked like it was fitted for four-person travel, but with Sanji’s spindly legs and Zoro’s expansive shoulders, the two men alone made it feel cramped. The last thing Sanji needed was to feel physically uncomfortable. 

“I thought you’d be pleased.” 

“What, with my old man signing me away like some commodity?” Sanji reached into his left breast pocket and pulled out the contract envelope.

Zoro took the envelope and frowned. He opened it and unfolded the contract. Then, he burst out laughing. 

“What the hell is your problem, marimo?” Zoro couldn’t stop laughing. 

"Doesn't look like anyone's signed anyone away." He shoved the paper in Sanji’s face. There was no signature where his should’ve been. That old son-of-a-bitch had played it off like he had forged Sanji’s signature--probably to piss him off and have a good laugh, the sick fuck--and Sanji fell for it. 

“What the-wait, what?” Sanji grabbed the paper from Zoro. “But the old man said…I thought he…”

“Overreacting must run in the family.”

Sanji stared dumbfounded at the contract. He had been too caught up in Zeff’s dramatics to read the fine print. Or rather, regular print. According to the contract, written in clear ink, as long as Sir Zoro Roronoa and the Mihawk family required his services, he, Mr. Sanji Vinsmoke was allowed to dictate his own salary, work environment, accommodations, staff, and whatever else he required. The contract was perpetual and without an end-date so long as Mr. Vinsmoke approved of the terms. There was even an option for him to take on outside clients if he felt so inclined. It was an extremely open arrangement that gave Sanji the majority, if not all the say in how it went. It was really up to him. 

“And Zeff’s not getting any money?”

“No, actually, he refused. Said I would be doing him a favor.” Zoro’s mouth started to grin wide. Sanji didn’t like where this was going. 

“What favor?” The favor of getting him to move out?

“I’m not sure, but he mentioned offhandedly something about being able to work without noise complaints…” Zoro’s face was so smeared with self-satisfaction, Sanji wanted to smack it off himself. And yet, in spite of the enormity of his embarrassment, Sanji couldn’t help but feel incredibly turned on at the thought of other people overhearing them. It was exhilarating. It was new. He felt his face blush wildly. 

“I don’t believe this.”

“Just the facts,” Zoro shrugged like this whole thing was perfectly normal. “Another fact: you’re pretty cute when you’re mad.” Then Zoro started laughing again.

“Am not!” His childish response made Zoro laugh harder. Sanji hated being made a fool of. Probably why he hated surprises, unless he planned them. So Sanji reacted childishly again: he kicked him. 

Zoro’s eyes popped, clearly in pain from Sanji’s literal knee jerk reaction. Sanji kicked him again in the same shin. Zoro’s face contorted and settled into a scowl. But on Sanji’s third kicking attempt, Zoro reacted. He grabbed the assaulting leg and stopped it. Sanji tried to jerk it back, Zoro would not relent. He pulled the shin straight so it could do no damage, so Sanji scooted his hips forward to rebend his knee and reclaim his leg. But then Zoro yanked him completely up and onto his lap. 

“Should I turn the coach around?” Zoro’s voice was gentle and imploring. Sanji wasn’t sure himself, still wrapping his own head around the situation thrust upon him. In his workroom, under that ceiling, he could’ve come up with a handful of schemes and reactions and be prepared for the worst. Zoro wasn’t the only playmate to try and claim Sanji for themselves--Sanji had been used to fending bottom feeders off--but being wanted by someone he actually wanted, in this bold of a gesture, was both thrilling and terrifying and he didn’t know what to do about it. He had absolutely no idea. 

“Let me think about it,” was the best response he could muster. 

Zoro undid the top button of Sanji’s shirt. Then another. And another. 

“Take your time," he said in a low voice. "But there is a point of no return." The estate. That's right. Very few people even in that upper echelon were privy to enter that secluded fortress; the guest-list for their annual parties was so tight, only a handful of Zeff's VIP clientele were on it. The thought of being included in the exclusive was admittedly enticing. It was a fantasy he had no yet tapped into, oddly enough. What did the mansion/house/chateau of many names even look like? What did Zoro's bed look like? Did he have a desk like Sanji's? What would Zoro have him wear? How would his blue shirts look crumpled on the floor? Could anyone hear you scream through marble? Sanji felt lips pressing onto his now open clavicle, sucking on that delicate place near his vocal cords. He gasped as he stared down at that tan face. 

So what was holding him back? Why couldn’t he just say yes and move into these brown eyes? He had wanted Zoro to keep coming back, didn’t he? He loved him dominating him, didn’t he? But, everything had been so perfect, with their appointments and with their arrangement. What if living under the same roof changed things that were beyond his control? What if his feelings changed, or worse, what if Zoro’s?

“It’s just-I mean, my family basically threw me out.” Sanji’s responses weren’t sticking, unlike Zoro’s nonverbal ones. He was trailing up Sanji’s neck now, biting his jaw. 

“I wasn’t an accessory to that,” Zoro’s voice purred against Sanji’s throat and his knees started to feel weak. His hips felt heavy. 

“And yet, you did nothing.” 

“How about now?”

“You’re not helping.”

Sanji let his hips sink into Zoro’s lap. What a morning. It’s true, he was happy to see Zoro again. There had been nothing for a while and now everything. Their last encounter had etched itself particularly in his mind, not simply because it was the most recent, but because it was the most arousing. Sanji felt so good, he was afraid it would never happen again. That maybe he had already given Zoro everything he had and that there would be nothing left for next time. Which is probably why he pulled his leg away. And why he was also pulling away now. 

Sanji felt Zoro sliding his tongue down his neck now, sucking bits of exposed skin away as he worked on the rest of Sanji’s shirt. He felt the air on his freed chest briefly before a wet mouth descended over a nipple. Sweet, electric pleasure followed as he felt fingertips knead the other, coaxing the nipple to harden. The combination of wet and dry caressing pumped him with gasps and his back with arches. His hips started to slowly rock on their own, his chest going numb from undulating. 

Then Sanji felt a hand ease him back up, his torso straighten forward. He felt his face close to Zoro’s as a pair of hands cradled his head and lips press one of his eyelids open. Then the other side. Then he watched as the green haired man planted slow and generous kisses on the corners of his eyes. The peak of his eyebrow bone. The sides of his temples. The corners of his jaw. Each one landed with a padded sense of purpose, a well-thought gift. Had Zoro ever been this gentle with him? It felt so strange. So lovely. So nice. Sanji wanted to die. 

This was so different from the Zoro he knew. Could Sanji even say that he knew him at this point or ever? His own reaction was startling. His whole adult life had been in the pursuit of pain and yet, here he was. Melting at the simplicity of sweetness. 

So absorbed in the attention to his face that Sanji didn’t notice Zoro’s hands slide off of it. They placed themselves on his knees and travelled up his thighs, bringing with them an urgent kind of pressure that brought heat slowly back to his loins. The volumes of his moans cranked up even higher as Zoro’s hands locked themselves in his inner crotch and pressed thumbs into a trigger for pleasure he never knew he had. 

Sanji could barely keep his eyes in focus, his mouth gaping like a fish out of water. He wrapped his arms instinctively around Zoro’s neck and Zoro stared back at him in appreciative awe, mouth open to match, both exchanging the same cups of air back and forth. His body rocked oh so happily to the pace of Zoro’s hands, the pleasure they kneaded into him was so new and exciting, he thought he might cum. 

New and exciting. Zoro seemed ready for it. Hell, he was already there. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe Sanji should just meet him halfway. Sanji started grinding into Zoro’s crotch with fresh determination. He let his head drop and his sight go. He could hear the other man’s moans on his chest, his nipples on fire and his groin throbbing with want. He started to feel light headed as the teasing emptied out his mind. He needed more.

Sanji pulled himself up. Without even waiting for orders from Zoro, he got off his lap and turned around. As soon as his back was to Zoro, he immediately made quick work of his pants. Given the restriction of space, he could only manage to shove them down to his knees. Good enough. Next, underwear. His then freed and very hard cock was greeted instantly by a welcoming calloused hand. The other he felt at the base of his ball sack, both hands stroking simultaneously. He could barely stand it. He moaned and panted happily at the ceiling.

Sanji clumsily attempted to shimmy off his jacket and shirt, but Zoro must’ve noticed him struggling with his angle and let go of him to assist. Or so it seemed. After peeling both layers off Sanji’s shoulders and halfway down his back, Zoro’s hands stopped right at the crook of his elbows, locking the blond’s arms behind him. Before Sanji could complain about him ruining the shoulder pads, he felt Zoro’s grip twist the garment in between his elbows, drawing them closer together and his shoulder back with them. Then, another hand snaked around in front, grazing his inner thighs, causing his member to perk up. It reached for his balls again, petting him and causing his hips to move again. It worked up to grip his shaft, up and over the tip, pausing to palm it a few times before readjusting to hold the shaft close to the head. It pumped him slowly, steadily, perfectly, as the knot of clothing dragged Sanji back into an arch. It felt so good. Sanji rolled back his head and it bobbed like dead weight to the rhythm of Zoro’s meaningful strokes. His eyes were closed and his mouth opened and shut, letting out soft moans. They soon increased in intensity as Zoro’s stroking picked up speed and pressure. The heat welled up in his groin so painfully, he could’ve burst but instead, he wanted more. He was feeling greedy. 

“More,” Sanji uttered. Zoro responded with a soft growl and a bite of his shoulder. The blond felt fingers crawl up his throat and into his mouth. He lathered them with mouthy helpings of attention, making sure each finger was more than drenched. When the fingers left him vacant, it was long before his other hole was filled up. 

Sanji’s panting became dry. His lower eyelids felt raised. It must’ve been awhile, only one finger in him and he was already out of breath. He moaned as the finger slowly went in and out of him, coaxing him loose, making him ready. Then another came and repeated the same motion, in and out, occasionally twisting and turning, drawing out deeper moans. His breath hitched when the other fingers would brush his tender balls or press against his perineum. 

“I want to ride you.” Sanji hardly felt himself say it, the words tumbled out of his mouth. He couldn’t gauge Zoro’s reaction, but he could only assume compliance by the fabric rustling from underneath and behind him. The feeling of fingers in him was soon replaced by bare thighs against his own and finally, that gorgeous length against his poor sopping asshole. He slid himself up and down Zoro’s pole, his panting grew heavier with his own struggle to balance his impatience with his desire for a more mind blowing orgasm. One side won. Sanji aimed himself over the head and plunged himself down completely. 

The fullness knocked the wind out of him. His head felt impossible and everything felt like it was closing in on him, the windows, the walls, his clothes, his face. The very air itself. He could’ve stayed there forever but he wanted to cum. Zoro’s beautiful, hard, perfect cock was in him again and it was going to bring him to the brink. He moved his hips, up with intention, out with color, over and over and over and over again, yes yes yes yes yesssss. Each pump of his ass drummed in him steady rings of gold. He couldn’t feel his arms anymore, but he could feel Zoro’s busing themselves all over his body, his balls, everywhere, all at once, searching for pleasure, pleasure for him only. One hand worked his cock in perfect waves with his pace, the other was playing with one of Sanji’s nipples, just enough pressure, just enough circulation to feel tantalizing, but not overworked. It felt at once unbearably heavenly and exquisitely sinful. Sanji was in rapture. Nothing on earth should feel this good. 

His cum fired out of him in heavy, pearly globs, proof that Sanji hadn’t touched himself since they last met. He had wanted that feeling of Zoro’s complete dominance to last, but now the new sensation of having taken his own pleasure coated his being in white hot bliss. He couldn't believe he had asked for it. And he couldn’t believe what was delivered. 

It felt like ages until his body had calmed down. His skin felt like it would be permanently covered in goosebumps. The shivers didn’t stop even once the orgasm, the amazing orgasm, had faded. It was like that sometimes. He was used to feeling so oddly cold and suspended. What Sanji wasn’t used to was Zoro holding him in his warm arms until they were the same temperature and their breathing at the same rate. He was stunned. 

Then Sanji felt awkward, awkward for having stayed too close for too long. He lurched his body forward, letting Zoro’s softening dick out from under him with a groan. With his knees now on the ground, he put his head down briefly to the seat in front of him, his jacket and shirt still restricting his movements. He shed them off from behind and threw them onto the seat as he hoisted himself up to sit himself. Eyes closed as he steadied his breath and now enjoyed the feeling of warm sun on his bare skin, he reached down and pulled up his pants slowly as he raised his hips. 

One of his legs touched Zoro’s in the shuffle and Sanji looked up only to see Zoro watching him get dressed. He had re-belted his robe and was seated again with limbs crossed, a scowl on his face, not of anger, but concentration. On what, Sanji thought, as he buckled his belt. Then he watched as Zoro’s eyes watched him zip up his fly. Oh. 

Zoro hadn’t come yet. Sanji had been so consumed by his own orgasm, he hadn’t noticed. Or just assumed they had come together. Normally, if he finished before Zoro, the other man would simply seize the moment and fuck him in whatever hole was available until he was satisfied. Sanji loved it when he did that. So why wasn’t he doing it now?

Without looking, he started to reach for his shirt, but Zoro’s hand got there first. Okay, here it comes, Sanji thought. Zoro was going to tie him up again and have his way with him, maybe even punish him for forgetting about him. Sanji licked his lips. He was ready for it. He was always ready for it. 

But instead, he watched in amazement as Zoro aired out his shirt and brought it behind him to put on. Sanji gave him a most confused look as he cautiously put one arm in a sleeve, then the other. What was Zoro up to? Then Zoro started buttoning up his shirt, one by one, not making eye contact, but rather focusing entirely on the taste of redressing Sanji. 

“You’re not gonna finish?” Sanji blurted out bluntly. Zoro continued buttoning. 

“It’s fine.” Zoro’s voice was even and steady, without a single shred of doubt. 

Sanji’s heart stopped as he heard himself in Zoro’s words. It dawned on him that there was something unspoken between them, something unknown and pressing that he couldn’t quite put a finger on, but whatever it was, it made Zoro suddenly seem far, very far away. Sanji stretched out his hand and grazed his fingers on Zoro’s earrings. He rubbed the top of the studs with his thumb slowly, letting the hanging pieces feather his other fingers. He noticed Zoro’s hands had stopped and his eyes were now closed. Sanji continued playing with the swordsman's earlobe, the supple flesh against cold metal. Sparks flew off his finger tips, like he had stumbled onto something he wasn’t supposed to. He bit his bottom lip as he watched Zoro do the same. He strummed the earrings slowly, observing them clank and jump between his fingers, pianoing up the earlobe and onto the shell. Zoro suddenly growled and snapped his head back, pressing the side of his face into Sanji’s hand, his mouth sipping air as he bit at Sanji’s palm. Sanji saw Zoro’s other, vulnerable ear and dove in mouth first. First he opened the expanse of his lips over the entire ear, breathing hard and hot, then started to slide them close on the shell. He felt Zoro panting in his hand, teeth gnashing and tongue lashing. Sanji sucked on the virgin earlobe, alternating between licks and tugs. He headed back up for the shell, running his tongue along the rim, rounding the conch, repeating the spiral slowly then suddenly swiftly then slowly again, all the while Zoro’s panting became moans until finally, Sanji shoved his tongue into the earhole and Zoro let out a guttural cry. 

Sanji knew Zoro liked things whispered into his ear, they both did, but he hadn’t thought of this before. Fuck, he was so turned on. He placed his lips over Zoro’s and turned the key to an invisible door they both wanted unlocked. He led the green haired man up and over him. He struggled with his belt and practically tore his pants off his hips from under them, scraped them off with a few stomps, freed his legs and lassoed Zoro up against him, riding his crotch against the other man’s returned hardness. He shoved his hands between their legs, reached for and released it. Then Zoro took over, lathering up his palm with a lick and grasping both their cocks in a single scoop. Sanji rolled his head back once more and shuttered his eyes as he took in the arousing sensation of their cocks rubbing together as one until he heard:

“We’ve got company.”

Alarmed, Sanji snapped his head towards the corner of the carriage wall and window. There was another carriage right next to them with two women in the passenger seat facing them. With their perky hats and feathered lashes, they were giggling and laughing away behind fans and gloved hands. And then they stopped and waved merrily at Sanji. 

“Shit,” Sanji said as he struggled to sit up and look decent. His cheeks felt flushed with embarrassment and his heart felt loud. Zoro stopped him, not by force, but by covering Sanji’s body with his presence, dipping his head low and whispering darkly into his eardrum: 

“Let ‘em watch.” Sanji’s eyes blew open. “Besides,” Zoro continued, much to Sanji’s chagrin, “I think you like it.” Sanji let out a gasp as Zoro rubbed the slick head of his cock against his asshole. Zoro grabbed his thighs, jerked Sanji’s hips up, took aim and pummeled himself back into Sanji’s wanton wails. Sanji felt pressure all around him, from the corner of window and wall, from the air of the carriage, from the gaze of strangers, from the consistent pounding, he felt a tension, beautiful and bound, billow into erotic steam in his lungs. It was fantastic, feeling both trapped and freed. Sanji’s head flailed about, shaking no, but yes. His face hit the glass, he could see the girls gasping, fanning themselves and he just opened and closed his jaw, fogging up the window with his clouded lust. Zoro pumped into him, gripping his hamstrings, pushing his knees by his sides, increasing the pressure, their foreheads clashing, their breaths colliding, rocking and rolling with the carriage off into a state of euphoria.

The last thing Sanji remembered seeing before he completely blacked out was Zoro exiting him and getting down on his knees. 

*******

“We’re here.” 

Sanji awoke to the jolt of the carriage stopping. He could hear the sounds of birds chirping, water flowing and trees rustling. The smell of Japanese cypress hit him the most. So this is where Zoro got his signature scent. 

Suddenly horrified that he might still be naked, Sanji fumbled around for his clothes only to realize he was already wearing them. Pant, shoes, socks, everything. Even his cigarettes were neatly in his jacket pocket. He looked up to thank Zoro, but saw that the green haired nobleman was already outside. 

Stepping onto the cobblestone, the mansion--or castle, to be accurate--that stood before him was even more impressive than rumor had it, not to mention the staff that greeted him in perfectly pressed crimson and white uniforms. Looking up at the ten maybe even twenty stories of endless rooms, Sanji wondered which one was Zoro’s. 

“I would give you a tour, but we might get lost.” Zoro said.

“Seriously? It’s that big?”

“Well, not exactly.”

“‘Not exactly?’”

“Why don’t you freshen up?” Zoro said, changing the subject. “Dinner will be brought to your room at seven.” The green haired man started walking towards the house, then paused. “I have a prior engagement, but I’ll see you at nine?” Sanji thought the formalities were a little odd given it was Zoro’s home they were in. 

“Sure. Nine.”

“Great.”

“Oh, is this the new tailor?” Sanji heard a feminine bell of a voice from above. A pink haired girl with a grumpy face and two ghostly escorts hovered about until they landed on the ground. She had an aesthetic of someone who knew themselves well. He liked her right away. 

“Perona, meet Sanji Vinsmoke. Sanji, Perona. My sister, the ghost ‘princess.’” 

“A pleasure to meet your acquaintance, m’lady,” Sanji said as he picked up her gloved hand and gave it a kiss. He watched her stern expression light up to a delighted smile. 

“The pleasure is all mine!” She turned and glowered at Zoro. “Someone knows how to talk to ladies around here.” She turned back to Sanji, suddenly smiling. “You must let me show you around, this one’s useless.” Zoro snapped his head over.

“He’s exhausted, leave him alone.”

“Don’t you have something with the princess of something something, whatever, come with me, Sanji!” 

And before Zoro could protest, Perona linked her arm with Sanji’s and floated them into the castle. 

**********

“And this is my sunroom, but I keep the curtains closed, not good for the skin, you know, too much sunlight, so I guess it’s my dark room, haha!” 

Perona cheerfully waltzed them from room to room, commenting on each with brisk nonchalance. The length and attention to detail seemed to vary depending on how relevant they were to her life. Sometimes she would divulge a great deal of information, sometimes she just shrugged. 

Passing by what appeared to be a room for combat, Perona turned her nose in the air and made a “humph!” sound. 

“And what room is that, pray tell?” 

“Zoro’s practice hall. He gets his ass kicked there. It’s embarrassing and boring. Now, moving on!” She charged forward. 

Around the castle they went. Sanji made a mental map of each wing and floor, making extra notes on spaces Zoro frequented. He couldn’t imagine a reason to go there himself, but he liked the thought of knowing Zoro might be there. 

“...and I wish I could show you Vivienne’s, but she’s not here at the moment.” 

“Vivienne?”

“Oh, my couturiere of course! She would hate it if we barged in while she’s not there.”

“But it’s your house, is it not?”

“Yes, but it’s her space, how could I impose?” Perona made a face. “It’s not like she’s a slave.” 

Sanji was taken aback. All the aristocrats he had ever dealt with were entitled, barging in an out people’s lives whenever they pleased. It occurred to him now that Zoro never came to the atelier outside of their designated appointments. He came late, sure, but he left as soon as his time was up. It was always like that. 

“So where is Miss Vivienne now?”

“Why, on vacation of course! Right after she came, I had her make over a hundred dresses, I couldn’t help myself, you know how it is, she’s so famous and everything and I was a fan for sooo long and just went NUTS, but she did it and I felt so bad, I insisted she take a break immediately!” 

“A hundred dresses? Wow, you must have a lot of parties to attend m’lady.”

“Well, it was more like ten, but in couture that’s like a hundred mass produced dresses, maybe even thousands! So by comparison, everything I owned was garbage compared to her work, so I just asked her to remake it all and I’m sooooo happy I did!” Perona threw her hands up in the air like she had finished a pop song. “The best clothes for your best self, no?”

“If only everyone thought like you, Miss Perona. The world would be a more bearable place.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Perona glowed with pride, her strides now a full-on skip. “Anyway, when she comes back, maybe in a month or two, I can show you her studio because it is GORGEOUS, if I do say so myself, and I do, I have a knack for interior design, you know, Father agrees.” 

“Well if your style is of any indication, the lady does have an impeccable sense of discernment.”

Perona stopped, turned and beamed at him. 

“Oh, Sanji, I like you very, very much.” She giggled happily and floated them onwards. 

Eventually, they reached the top floor of the west wing. 

“And here’s your room! Well, the bedroom.” 

The first thing Sanji saw was the window. Majestic in its tall shutter doors, white curtains fluttering in sunlight and fresh air from an ivory balcony. Opposite the window lay a monstrous bed of silver blue satin sheets, with a skirt of twisted silver fringe and fabric to match. An impressive closet of ash stood nearby with a handsome full length mirror and vanity to match. The walls of the room were pillared with more white fresco and silver paint. Upon closer inspection, Sanji noticed carvings of fish and marine life bursting from dynamic waves and crashes. And then the ceiling. Goodness, the ceiling was a fresco depicting a glorious celebration of aquatic life and celestial beings swirled in oceans and cosmic wonder. 

“Do you like it? Tell me you do.”

“Do I like it? Miss Perona, I adore it.” Perona squealed and clapped with delight at the praise. Her ghosts clapped too. 

“Come come come, then you’ll just LOVE your workspace!” She took his arm again and waltzed them over to a room across the hallway. 

Sanji gasped when the ghosts opened the door. An open space greeted them, with equally, if not higher ceilings, a fireplace humming quietly on the side. The same rococo motifs could be found, this time bringing a delightful contrast to the modernist chaise lounge, ottoman and large open shelves lining the walls, all waiting to be filled with fabric and books. A massive chandelier floated mid-air above them, littered with candles, looked like a crown of antlers, but a second glance told Sanji it was actually petrified wood. 

“Your furniture was in rough shape, I wanted to replace them honestly, but Zoro insisted that you’d want them here,” Perona said, playing with curtains of the massive ceiling-to-floor, wall-to-wall window. Sanji suddenly took note of the furniture and indeed, it was every piece in his old workroom, from the desk to the coffee table. He barely recognized them, they had been repaired beyond recognition, but when he put his hand on his work bench, a tingling sensation of familiarity warmed his soul and he felt at home.

“But how did you, I just got here, when did-”

“I have my ways,” she giggled secretively. Her ghosts giggled too. 

“Is it really all right for me to have these rooms? Surely, they must be for someone else, someone more important staying here?”

“Heavens no, they’re much too bright for our family’s tastes. But Zoro told me your room at the atelier faced the ocean and that you liked windows, so my imagination did the rest.” Sanji blushed, thinking of his face against the carriage window earlier. 

“You got all of this from just that bit of information?”

“I told you. I have a gift.” She flipped her hair a-matter-of-factly. 

“My lady, you yourself are a gift. Thank you. From the bottom of this humble heart.” Perona sighed happily.

“You know, Zoro should thank me too, I’m the one who gave Father the idea to let him bring you here, after all.”

Sanji’s ears perked up. Again, he had been under the impression of one thing and now it was turning out not to be so. He had to know more. 

“Come again?”

“Well, I could tell something was up because the number of suits he was ruining increased exponentially all of a sudden, I mean, he was already pretty reckless, but thrice in one week was just too ridiculous.” Perona paused, but only to roll her eyes. “Also, he stopped grumbling about Zeff, which was suspicious, but theeeeen, when he came into the hall last night saying he had torn up every single suit, it hit me: it wasn’t someTHING, it must be someONE.” She pointed straight at Sanji’s nose. 

Sanji was stunned. Obviously, he knew he was attracted to Zoro and Zoro was attracted to him, but to have someone close to the stoic swordsman suggest that there may be more to that attraction than something primal was a doozy. He wanted her to go on, so he framed the next question carefully. 

“So how did you bring it up?”

“Well, I figured Zoro was just making an elaborate excuse to see you, but it seemed so inefficient, so I brought up Vivienne,” She twirled around in the air, humming. “You know, for all of my fittings, I never have to leave the house! Isn’t it grand? Zoro never would’ve thought of that, he’s such a simpleton.” Sanji couldn’t help but chuckle. So that’s how it was. 

“Forgive him, my lady. He is only a man.” Perona laughed. 

“You’re right. He is. A very big dumb one.”

Sanji smiled and shook his head. He had even more to process now.

“Pardon my ineloquence, Miss Perona, I am simply overcome with gratitude and disbelief, but how can I ever repay you?”

“Oh you can’t,” she said cheerfully, like it was perfectly normal. “Just...just take care of my brother.” Then her expression dampened slightly. Sanji thought she looked a little sad. But then Perona quickly smiled again at him, brighter than before and turned to head out. “Anyway, that’s the end of our tour for today! My ghosts will take you to the bath house when you’re ready.” 

And with that, she left. 

************

The Turkish style baths were amazing, to say the least. Sanji was going to opt for a simple shower, he was too spent for the ritual of scrubbing and soaking, but when he entered the first chamber of warm air, he couldn’t help himself. Something about the continuous flow of hot, dry air over his skin and the perspiration beading off him effortlessly soothed him. He pushed himself to his limit in that heat before rinsing off in a clarifying pool of cold water. He rinsed and repeated the process until he felt stable. 

It had been some day. First, Zeff tricked him. Then, he tricked himself. Then something happened in between here and now that was mind blowing. Just thinking about it again made Sanji feel winded. That made him smile. And it made him nervous. 

He went to dinner nervous and could barely eat a bite, as extravagant and delicious as it was. He pulled out his friend for nerves, his cigarettes, and sat on the edge of the balcony in his new workspace. The view was a breathtaking display of forest, sky and water. Apparently the castle lay on an impossibly idyll bit of land in the middle of a lake somewhere in the mountains. How did nature even come up with that? Probably because it knew everything, how unfair that it had all the answers. Sanji wanted so many answers to questions he didn’t even have. 

Nine o’clock rolled around and then nine fifteen. A knock didn’t come until nearly nine thirty. 

“Come in.” 

Zoro stepped in, wearing a white kinagashi trimmed in black. Sanji thought it unusual that he didn’t have his swords with him, but remembered he was at home. The green haired man walked over to him, but stopped in front of his desk.

“Perona told me you like the rooms.”

“I do. Thank you,” Sanji sucked in a final puff before crushing out the butt. Not sure how to bring up the subject of them, he brought up work instead. “So how does this work? You place an order and I fill them?”

“Sure. Maybe my father at some point, but that’s unlikely.”

“Why is that?”

“Zeff’s been sending him the same size and styles for decades.”

“Ok. So where should I start?”

“With everything.” 

“Ah yes, Miss Perona told me you had a little slashing party.”

“Hah. What else did she tell you?”

“That it was her idea to have me here.” Zoro chuckled. 

“Well, maybe I should thank her.” 

“All right,” Sanji said, ignoring the elephant in the room, “Then here’s what I’ll need.” Sanji went to his desk and picked up a piece of paper he had jotted some material notes down earlier. He slid the note over to Zoro, holding it in place on the desk. Zoro reached for the paper, but instead placed his fingers over Sanji’s. 

“So you signed the contract?” 

Sanji had not. It completely slipped his mind. He ran back over to his room on the other side. Jacket. Where was his jacket. There it is. He pulled out the contract and flattened it out on the vanity table. Pen pen pen. Got it. Here goes nothing. He signed his name in one breath: Sanji Vinsmoke. Full stop. He rushed back to the workroom.

“Here. Signed.” 

“Trial clause?”

“Don’t need it.”

“My first appointment?”

“Tomorrow at ten?” 

“Make it eleven. Not a morning person.”

“Ten, otherwise you’ll get here at noon.”

“Fine.”

Zoro walked past him casually, but suddenly stopped at the door. He turned his head and looked right at Sanji. Sanji looked right back, breath on hold. Zoro opened his mouth as if to say something, but then closed it in a smirk. Instead, he rang his fingers through his earrings and kept on walking. 

“Good night.” 

Sanji stayed still, listening to his disappearing footsteps. He turned and looked at the moon, shining bright and confident. It was so full tonight, refracting magic onto the surface of the lake. Not knowing how far or even why, he wondered what it would be like to jump off the moon on a night like this. Whatever the landing, it seemed like a good time to leap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> one of my main motivators for writing this story is to write the kind of stories i want to read. in the fanfic world, there are a few common themes that have become cliche for me and i thought i should address them, or remind myself why this story and writing it has become so important to me. and not just cuz i enjoy writing smut (which i very much do). 
> 
> 1) Putting First Times on a Pedestal  
i fell victim to this in my early fanfic enjoyment. a first time is exciting because it's new. but in real life, a first time is really just a gateway to your second. and third. and many more. at first, it's thrilling to get to know new skin, but how do you perpetuate that initial passion over a lifetime? that is the unsung journey of sex in a long-term, monogamous relationship. i struggle with it, but writing this has actually shown me that it does not have to be a reality at all. this leads me to my second gripe. 
> 
> 2) Dubious Consent.  
yes, i use it in the first chapter, but as you can see, it's ONLY then. to prove a point to myself and others that consent is sexy. there are other ways to create tension and stoke that fire. i intend to explore each and every possible way of reigniting that spark. sex with a long term partner that you trust and love is powerful and unparalleled. 
> 
> 3) Poetic Justice  
I know writing is hard. it is so. so hard. and thankless. i don't get paid for my stories--i've worked in professional writing and editing for a long time--but not for these pieces. i choose to do this for fun and for free and i am very much aware others are too. but there are common phrases like "locking lips" or "burning passion" that are very tired and it pulls me out of the moment. for me, this is lazy writing, taking something that's already known and trying to use it to elicit new emotions from people. there are endless combinations of words to describe the variations of sensations we all love, relate to or could entertain. i implore other writers by example to offer new experiences for familiar themes. otherwise, i'm afraid we'll feel nothing and nothing is boring.
> 
> 4) Sexuality  
they say write what you know. while i may be a cis, heterosexual woman that identifies as such, i recognize that we now live in a world opening up to diversity and i embrace it. i think this fandom should embrace it as well: there are too many stories relying on the binary "oh no i kissed a man so i must be gay" formula. it begs the question "what about being bisexual/pansexual/etc?" ignoring these options is out of touch with reality and really stalls the more interesting narrative potentials and honestly, fun sexual possibilities. don't get me wrong: a gay, coming-out, coming of age story has enormous importance in our primarily heterosexual-focused culture. however in the context of this fandom, i fear it may simply just be a plot device for creating conflict that sells. 
> 
> 5) Modern Romance  
meet cute, date, fall in love, get married, settle down, have kids. this is a solid love path, but it has been jammed down my throat through hollywood and advertising, i'm sick of it. in 2020, people hook up more than they date, they fear feelings and commitment, they can't communicate even though we have thousands of ways to stay connected. i wanted my story to reflect these changes and uncertainties because it is so much harder to navigate the relationship landscape nowadays. every couple has their own dynamic and ways that work for them to function and love each other. this is the most important theme of this epic: the process through which two people with undeniable chemistry struggle and ultimately succeed in falling in love and staying in love. it's the ultimate love story for anyone, real or fictitious. i want to give our boys a modern romance because that's what i believe we all want and deserve for ourselves. 
> 
> thank you for taking the time to read my story and my little essay. as always, i love your comments and engagement, especially if you have questions or suggestions. a lot of the story has evolved the way it has thanks to your feedback (18, if you're still there, i'm talking to you!). everyone else, i love love love you and appreciate you and i hope you stick around.


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